Dragon Age: Origins Two Together
by Scarletstar20
Summary: If Duncan recruited two new grey wardens before the battle of Ostagar, what would have happened? The last of their order, the three remaining wardens set off to save the country. Well, sort of.
1. Prelude: Chapter 1: Mirror, Mirror

_Author's note: Welcome to Two Together, my Dragon Age Origins fanfic. This is going to be a semi AU fiction about what would have happened if Duncan had recruited 2 new grey wardens for the battle of Ostagar instead of just the player character. This is going to be quite long and I am trying to use as much of the original dialogue for the prelude as possible. I did not write any of the original dialogue from the game and do not own dragon age or profit in any way from this fanfic other than having a grand old time_. _I hope you enjoy the Prelude and stick around for the rest. Constructive criticism always appreciate! _

_Ps. As a side note, the name of the dalish elf, Ishafel is a corruption of a name that appeared in Robin Mckinnely's The blue sword. I liked it so much I used it here.  
_

_-Scarlet_

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Prologue

_Will they tell stories about us, do you think?_

_Oh surely and in them, we will both be ten feet tall, you will have the power of invisibility, and I will be shooting lightening out of my eyes._

_I'm sure the circle mages would love to see that trick. But it isn't really all that far from the truth is it?_

_Myth has a way of twisting the truth, making it more entertaining, I think._

_You rather they be entertained, than remember truthfully?_

_Your folk are the keepers of the lost lore, why don't you keep the truth of our journey as well._

_Maybe._

Prelude: Chapter 1- Mirror, Mirror

She came upon Tamlen in the wood easily, despite his experience in hiding his tracks. Hunters paid no attention to stealth when their prey was on the run. She dropped almost soundlessly into the clearing beside him.

"You arrived just in time. I found these humans lurking in bushes. Bandits, no doubt"

His arrow was already notched, the humans staring with fear at the pointed tip. She notched hers as well. The three men began to quiver even more, if it was even possible. Filthy Shems, she thought to herself, not a spine among them.

"What say you, Ishafel? What should we do with them."

Keeping her arrow trained on the humans, she moved closer, until she stood between them and Tamlen.

"Find out what the are doing here" she said her voice almost a growl. She looked directly into the eyes of the man who appeared to be the leader, and the man backed away at her menacing glare.

"Does it matter?" Tamlen sounded annoyed "Hunting or banditry, we need to move camp if we let them live."

The red haired leader gushed out willing answers. "Look, we didn't come here to be trouble. We just found a cave, t-to the south, with sum ruins in them and we thought there might be... might be..." His voice trialed off.

"So, more thieves than bandits" Tamlen disproved, the string on his bow tightened.

Ishafel rolled her eyes inwardly. He always was one for the dramatic.

"Ha! I'd like to see these ruins." Ishafel had hunted in the Brecilian forest before, she had found no ruins

before. How could a shemlen just stumble across something like that?

She could tell from the stern expression on Tamlen's face that he was thinking the same.

"So would I. I've never heard of ruins in these parts before."

"Its true, we swear." The man on the right had grown brave, "We found this at the entrance.

Tamlen took the stone from him. A moments examination and a shocked look stole across his face.

"Is this Elvish? Written Elvish?"

Ishafel lowered her bow is surprise as she came to gaze on the stone.

"How do you know it's elvish, Tam?"

"It the same as on the keeper's scrolls, the ones she will not let us see."

"Was there any more like this? She barked at the humans as her finger scrolled along the carved text.

"We didn't get far, there was – was a demon with hungry black eyes. We r-ran, ran into you, as it was."

The stammer in his voice suggested that they were both scarier than any demon. Tamlen slipped the stone into his pocket and once more brought up his bow.

"Well, Lethallan? What do we do with them? They will bring others to burn us out if we let them live."

Three pairs of eyes looked at Ishafel. Was she kind? She had known to be.

But not to shem.

"Kill one. The others will not tell..." She gave a glare of promise "or else."

The two humans behind the red haired leader broke into a run. The man stumbled back, tripping over a tree root.

"You can't do this!" voice rose an octave in fear. Tamlen simply leased the arrow.

"Now then, how about we find those ruins, they said it was towards the west?"

He gazed over the ridge in the direction that the humans had come from.

"Should we not inform the keeper about..." she gestured to the body.

"The humans will stay quiet, you were kind enough to give them a warning." he tossed up the stone and closed his fingers around it. "Come on, lethallan. Are you afraid of demons too?"

He didn't wait for Ishafel's answer, rather he turned determinedly south and forged ahead. She shook her head and smiled slightly at his back before walking into the green and gold morning of the Brecilian forest.

The shem lay forgotten.

Tamlen took long strides down the steep encampment. The ground took a sudden turn and began to wind brokenly downward. Odd, Ishafel thought to herself. The forest was full of ridges and canyons but a place that led so far into the ground was uncommon. More unsettling still was that the sounds of the forest seemed to bleed away the farther down they traveled. Other than some wolves savaging a halla, wolves that were quickly dispatched, there was no wildlife anywhere. Foreboding began to creep over Ishafel's shoulders like a shadow. Something was not right. A dead halla was a bad omen. Tamlen seemed not to notice or care, but then he was always one to be a little reckless.

Take that brawl the other day...

As quickly as she thought it up, Ishafel put it out of her mind. She knew that many of her clan thought that she and Tamlen would bond one of these days, but the matter had never been discussed between them. Clan-mates and the best friends anyone had ever seen, that's all they were to each other. Except... It wasn't often that two clans passed each other, the forest was quite large and not all clans were at peace with each other. This clan's keeper claimed a prior association with Keeper Marethari and stopped for the night to visit. Hunters always showed respect for each other, but even the Dalish had men that were not respectful to women. As tight knit as the clans were, it was common for hunters to look for a bride outside their own clan. The foreign hunter had expressed an interest to Ishafel. She had promptly turned him down. Grabbing her arm, he made something which sounded vaguely like a threat. Her response was a comment on his breath. Her own hunters giggled. But then the elf had said something about going the same way as her mother, and the phrase 'dirty whore' had been used.

Ishafel didn't have time to register the comment before Tamlen had punched the other man across the jaw, although she had wasted no time wading into the fray. All in all, ten hunters had various scrapes and bruises and there was ill will on all sides. Tamlen and the offending foreigner had been given a lecture in proper dalish behavior and would hunt for the aravels of the children and the old in addition to themselves for a few weeks. Tamlen had refused to give her up as an instigator. She was not unnerved about the fight. On the contrary, if the situation had been reversed she would have done the same. It was that somewhere in the brawl she had almost sworn she had heard him claim her as his bond-mate to the other man. But she was not sure and it would seem more than silly to check with another hunter who had been at the fight. They would laugh at her, and Ishafel's feelings were as such that she could not stand to be laughed at. The broken land gave way to a gulley of fallen trees and brambles, and just when seemed that the shem's story may have been false, stately marble arches rose from the ground.

"Ah! Tamlen said in triumph "What do we have here?" avoiding the thorns by using his bow, he cleared a snag of brambles to reveal a cavelike ruin sloping downward into the earth.

It did not feel right. Not at all.

"This must be the cave." he said proudly, but he seemed to be as puzzled as she was. "I don't recall seeing this before, do you?"

"No, and that worries me. We should be wary."

"Always the careful one. Fine, but I'm not running back until I know there's something worth making a fuss over."

He climbed into the cave and it was a few moments before he realized that Ishafel was not beside him.

"Come on, let's at least see what's there. How dangerous could it be?"

Another moment passed before she hesitantly climbed in after him. After all, it was only a cave. She'd been in dozens of caves. The entrance was gnarled and old, snared by roots from above. The first thing she saw was a cocoon, never a good sign.

"Spiders" Tamlen said softly. The creatures had webbed the earth above their heads, creating a lattice network that seemed to stretch out as far as the cave went in. They would have to be careful. Ishafel didn't want to end up a spider's dinner. There were even a few overhead now, each with eight beady eyes focused elsewhere. They had not been noticed yet. Tamlen titled his head, pointing towards a side corridor, together they stayed to the side of the wall. The spiders moved on.

"Well, that was easy." he said as they started forward into the ruin. The further they went the greater the feeling of discomfort became. The air was thick as the spider web on the ceiling, but they continued to push forward anyway. She had not even noticed Tamlen's discomfort until he spoke.

"This place makes me nervous." Tamlen said, keeping his voice quiet. They moved past the spiders nest and emerged in what once was a large room, now it was largely collapsed in on itself, with dirt and debris littering the floor.

"What do you think all this is?" Ishafel's voice was not spare in wonder. She had never seen anything like this before, she had heard of ruins of course, but nothing as strange as this.

"I'm not sure. This looks like a very old human building. Why did they build this? And why would eleven artifacts be here."

Ishafel popped open a chest. "Not just artifacts. This is gear. They were not slaves." she traced her finger down the rough designs on the gloves.

"Maybe some of our ancestors lived here in caves like the dwarves. I'll stick to roaming the land myself."

They continued down a long stone passage, the strange feelings that she had before were waning and she looked at the architecture with real interest.

"So why did you want to come down here so badly?"

He gave her a boyish grin. "Aren't you curious? We could be discovering our history. Minstrels will write songs about us!"

The word "us" echoed off of the antechamber they entered.

Tamlen hesitated as she disarmed a trap.

"You aren't fooling me, Tamlen." She smile slightly. He was cute when he lied, Sheepish. A very Un-hunter-like giggle rose up in her chest and spilled into the room. Minstrels indeed!

"Well" he fiddled with his bowstring, adjusting it in response to spiders on the floor. "I thought if we were to bring back some great ancestral artifact the keeper might forgive me for, well, you know..."

She knew. The clan rending brawl. A brawl full of hopes and misunderstandings. Was this the time or place to discuss what she had heard? or thought she had heard, Ishafel corrected her thoughts ruthlessly.

"We were both brawling. I don't see why you got punished."

"Because I was caught and wouldn't give up any names. Of course she was angry with me."

She smiled at him playfully, "Thanks for covering for me, by the way. I got out of all that hunting because of you."

"Of course, you know I'd do anything for you." the last part came out so naturally, and he seemed so unfazed by it that it couldn't be any sort of confession. But the air, which was already silent, also grew quiet. Ishafel couldn't stand it. "Anything?" she said in a sing song voice, trying to relieve the sudden tension. "would you wrestle a bear with only your hands? Would you run naked through the camp? Would you stuff Merrill's robes with itching powder?"

Tamlen made a face and rolled his eyes. "Hey, weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Varathorn today? How did you end up coming with me?"

"You know me. I get away from camp whenever I can."

Somehow she noted in the way his laughter seem slightly forced, that maybe that was not the answer he was hoping for.

"I've never met anyone so eager to wander, I'll bet you end up in the city some day, living like a shem."

"Hey!" she said as the insult hit it's mark. Quietly she added "I wanted to be with you, of course."

Now that caught his attention. The passage they were in had become very narrow, so much so that they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. He turned to face her and the look on his face was of all things, uncertain.

If possible things grew even more quiet, and even more still.

"I...had hoped that might be the case. I'm glad."

He moved to brush a stray black strand from her face, and his hand continued down to cup her cheek. Very slowly, as though she were a halla that would bolt at sudden movement, he leaned down and very softly kissed her. The feeling was feather light and strangely new, but it elicited a sudden burst of action from her. Grabbing his forearms, Ishafel pulled him into the kiss more firmly. His lips parted slightly and her tongue brushed against them teasingly. His tongue darted out, and they dueled together for a long moment. When Tamlen finally pulled back to lean against the wall, he was out of breath. He had pulled Isahfel with him, and her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. She laughed softly, he wasn't sure at what, but he didn't mind. He himself was grinning rather wolfishly at the moment. He had always suspected, more hoped than suspected, but you could never quite tell with Ishafel. She had an way of being unpredictable with important situations. She came up to kiss him and they held each other

for a shorter moment until Tamlen once again pulled back, he kissed her forehead chastely.

"This is not the place for this discussion," he could not keep the merriment out of his voice. "But rest assured, Isha, we shall finish it when we get back to camp."

She seemed suddenly to remember their surroundings.

"Of course" she was still smiling. As she pulled away from him an dull glimmer caught her eye.

"What is that?"

She moved beyond Tamlen to the statue in the alcove. Talmen started when he saw it.

"I can't believe this You recognize this statue don't you?"

"It's worn but looks vaguely familiar.

"Back when our people lived in Arlathan, statues like these honored the creators. When the shems enslaved us, much of that lore was lost. This looks like human architecture... with a statue of our people. Can these ruins date back to the time of Arthalan?

"Perhaps, but there isn't much left down here."

The feeling of foreboding was back, and it was then that she notice the door.

"Was that there before?" she asked puzzled and moved forward, toward it.

She did not know how she missed the trap, but a cloud of sick green smoke poured forth. Materializing from nowhere were four skeletons. They shambled forward, raising their weapons high. Slashing though the smoke, they made short work of them.

"Were those risen corpses? I'm beiging to think this place is haunted."

"We should return to the keeper, she'll want to know about this place."

"Come on, Ishafel. Just a little farther? This one last room. Tamlen opened the door and step inside. Despite her better judgement, Ishafel followed.

A loud roar issued from inside the cavern and Ishafel was suddenly thrown against the wall by a creature from nightmare. It looked like a bear with it's skin on inside out. Spines stuck up from its flesh. Rotted meat scented its breath as it's jaws went for her throat. She head Tamlen's sword thunk into the muscles on the creatures side. It rounded on him, and she was free. Grabbing a Dar'Misu from her back, she slid under the creature and cut it's throat. It reared one final time before collapsing on it's side and giving a final death shudder. They both stood and gawked at the creature.

"By the creators, Wha-What was that thing?" Tamlen stuttered.

Ishafel just shook her head mutely, and looked up.

Tamlen followed her gaze.

It was mirror, Perfectly untouched by time and it must have been very old considering the state of the ruins.

It's beautiful isn't it? I wonder what the writing says." Tamlen approached it, but Ishafel stayed by the corpse, her nerves were singing "run run run" in rapid succession.

Carved in white marble, the looking glass was polished to an eerie sheen. It was quite beautiful.

"Stand back, We can't be sure it's safe."

"It stood here for how many centuries, I'm sure its not dangerous. I just want to see the writing- hey did you see that? I think something move inside the mirror."

"Get away from it, Tamlen..." She move forward to grab his arm, but the swipe was in vain.

Hold on, I just want to see what it is. Can you feel that. It knows we're here. It's showing me places, a city underground? And a great darkness..." He ran his fingers down the glass. Ishafel charged up the steps of the looking glass, intending to wrench him away from whatever seemed to hold him there.

"It-It sees me!" his voice broke in horror. "Help, I can't look away!"

She lunged for him and there was a great flash. She felt a terrible scorching sensation in her eyes as the world abruptly burned to blackness. The last thing that she heard before passing into unconsciousness was an unfamiliar voice

"I am so very sorry."


	2. Prelude: Chapter 2: Shatterglass

_Author's Note: This chapter will be the last of the cannon oriented chapters. It's a little long, but I didn't want to separate it into two. If you enjoy this chapter, I hope you'll stick around for the third, where Amell makes his long awaited appearance Reviews are loved and appreciated._

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Prelude- Chapter 2- Shatterglass

When Ishafel surged back from the darkness, she did not know where she was. The familiar scent of hide and grass surrounded her. She was in her own tent? Impossible. Had it all been a dream? She moved to sit up and at once felt violently ill. A fever dream? Had she been ill? Forcing herself to stand, She exited the tent quickly, intending to find Tamlen at once. It was Fenarel who first noticed her. She experience a sinking sensation in her stomach at the relief on his face.

It had not been a dream.

"You're awake! You have the gods own luck, lethallan. Everyone has been worried sick about you. How do you feel?"

The tenderness in his expression made her think that she had been very ill indeed. Fenarel had always been very easy to read, and he seem shocked to see her up and about. Troublesome.

"Worried. Where is Tamlen?"

His face grew dark. "We don't know. The shem who brought you here saw no sign of him."

Ishafel shook her head once, twice, trying to bring all that had happened after Tamlen touched the mirror into clarity, but there was nothing there.

"I don't remember anything." She seethed in frustration. "I was in a cave, then... nothing!"

"A grey warden appeared out of nowhere with you slung over his shoulder. You were delirious with fever. He said he found you outside a cave in the forest, unconscious and alone. He left you here and ran off again. The keeper has been using the old magic to heal you."

Even more troublesome.

"I need to talk to the keeper right away."

Fenarel nodded. "She wants to talk to you too."

He was quick to return with the keeper. Her face was not at all calming. In fact, Ishafel grew even more worried.

"I see you are awake, Da'len. It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did. I do not know what dark power held you, but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult for even my magic to keep you alive."

Ah, So she had been close to death; very, very close. She should probably still be resting, but she was not thinking of her own well being at the moment.

"Then Tamlen could be sick as well?"

The keeper's eyes betrayed the fear that her impassive voice did not.

"If he encountered the same thing you did, yes. The Grey Warden said he found you outside a cave already stricken. Da'len, Duncan thought there may have been darkspawn creatures inside the cave. Is that true?"

Ishafel shrugged "All I remember was a mirror..."

"A mirror? And it caused all this? I have never heard of such a thing in all the lore we have collected."

She sighed heavily and then began to pace. It was something she did only when very disturbed.

"I was hoping for answers when you woke, but there are only more questions." She paused, considering, and then "Do you feel well enough to show us the way? Da'len? Without you we will not find it."

She needed no time to consider. Tamlen could be dying.

"I am up to it, Keeper, I feel fine."

"I am relieved to here it. I am ordering the clan to pack up camp and go north. Take Merrill with you to the cave, Find Tamlen if you can, but do do swiftly."

"The clan is leaving? So soon?"

They had only just arrived a week ago.

"If there is any truth to what Duncan said, then darkspawn are coming, we need to stay ahead of the horde. But that is not our only concern." She suddenly gave Ishafel critical look. "Did you encounter any humans in our forest?"

"Three of them. Ishafel said brusquely "We killed one as an example."

Marethari shook her head in disapproval. "So I feared. You have stirred up a hornet's nest, da'len. Their

village blames us for your actions. As everywhere, our people are not welcome here. We must move on- quickly."

"But are you not interested in the ruins and the mirror?"

"I would be lying if I said I was not. But whatever knowledge lies in that cave is not worth our children. I send you back with hopes of finding Tamlen, That is all."

Ishafel thought on those words. She was right of course, she should have convinced Tamlen to leave the cave sooner. This- this was all her fault. The impact of the guilt was almost strong enough to send her stumbling. The keeper, thinking no doubt that the lost of balance was due to her sickness, reached out to her.

"Go quickly, for Tamlen's life hangs in the balance."

Ishafel did not waste anytime finding Merrill, and together with Fenarel, who had appealed to the keeper to come as well, they made a swift trek back to the clearing where she had killed the shem. Moving almost too fast for the other to to keep up, Ishafel was halfway down the broken land when she heard Merrill shriek.

"What is that!"

Several feet from Ishafel, a shadowed and twisted shem burst out of the ground. She took a step back as two more launched up from the revine. Fenarel's arrows knocked back the closest of the creatures and Ishafel let her Dar'misu take care of the rest. After the last one was slain, Merrill (who despite having done very little to help) stood panting for breath, horror on her face.

"What were those things? Were those darkspawn?"

Ishafel wiped the blackish blood off on the blade onto the grass. Strength left her knees and she sat for a moment on the grass.

"It would make sense." She said absentmindedly, in actuality it did not make sense to her at all. There had been nothing of the sort outside the cave when they had stumbled across it.

Merrill continued to prattle on.

"I've never seen anything like them! You can smell the evil on them! Where did they come from? Were they here before?"

"Maybe that mirror has something to do with it," Ishafel motioned to the two of them to follow as she continued down the broken ridge toward the cave. As before, the forest sounds stopped abruptly. A few moments more and they reached the bramble snarls over the mouth of the cave. Treading carefully, Ishafel took point, with Fenarel and Merrill close behind.

The cave was eerily quiet. Like Tamlen before them, the newest visitors were blown away by the hidden ruins.

"This- This is amazing!" Merrill whispered, "I had no idea human and elven architecture had been combined like this" her enthusiasm tempered quickly. "but... there is something wrong about this place isn't there?" It feels like its been tainted..." she shivered.

Ishafel had no time for musings, she just wanted to bring Tamlen home. The creatures had found their way to the cave as well. They found the first bodies a few rooms in, but they were not all dead. After making quick work of the supposed darkspawn, Ishafel found herself once again at the cave with the mirror. Running to the door, she flung it open in a burst of strength. In hindsight, she had not known what she thought would find there. Tamlen, maybe lying there sick, or perhaps totally healthy making this some sort of bazaar joke. Instead, amid a pile of dead darkspawn, she found a shem looking at the mirror. The mirror's glass had gone from a high polish to a sickly array of color. She heard a gasp from her right, Merrill no doubt, and he turned around. The man was well dressed for a shem, and well armed to boot. He surveyed all three of them with a look that was not quite neutral, but Ishafel had know idea what the expression could mean.

"So you were the ones fighting the darkspawn? I thought I heard combat."

"If you hear the fighting, why didn't you help?" Ishafel muttered under her breath. The shem actually had the gall to smile at that. "I would have had I not have been battling them myself. Not all the kills here were yours" he gestured to the ring of dead creatures surrounding him. "as you can see."

Ishafel continued to glower at him, she'd rather hurry up any conversation he thought they should have and find Tamlen instead. He turned to Ishafel in recognition.

"My name is Duncan, and it's a pleasure to finally meet you. The last time we spoke, you were barely conscious."

She nodded. "Andaran atish'an, I am Ishafel. This is Merrill, the keeper's apprentice and Fenarel, one of our hunters."

"Your keeper did not send you after me, did she? I told her I would been in no danger."

"We are looking for our brother, Tamlen" Merrill explained. It was clear she had jumped in before Ishafel lost her temper and said something along the lines of "why would we look for a shem?" Her agitation was clearly showing.

But Duncan seemed fixed on Ishafel. He addressed her again. "So you and your friend entered this cave and saw this mirror?"

"Yes, but it wasn't doing anything like _that_ when we found it."

By like _that_, she was referring to the red lightening that had begun to jump off the surface of the mirror and lick up the white marble sides.

"There was a monstrous bear guarding it," she described the appearance of the creature briefly to Duncan, "Was that bear a darkspawn?" she asked, her curiosity overcoming her annoyance for a moment.

"Perhaps, the mirror draws darkspawn to it. The Grey Wardens have seen artifacts like this mirror before, it is Tiventer in origin, used for communication. Over time some simply...break. They become filled with the same taint as the darkspawn. Tamlen's touch must of released it... It's what made you sick, and Tamlen too, I presume."

"Can we fix it?" Merrill interjected. She made a move to approach the mirror but Duncan firmly stopped her; grabbing her arm and holding her in place when she tried to pass him.

"Unfortunately, no. It will taint all those who come near it now.

Merrill stubbornly set her jaw. "I do not fear this sickness. The keeper knows how to cure it."

Duncan held her arm more forcefully. "She may have weakened it. But she cannot cure it."

Looking to Ishafel he said quietly, "your recovery is only temporary. I can sense the sickness in you, and it is spreading. Look inside yourself and you will see."

She didn't need to look, she could already feel her health being sapped away. How many times on the walk down had Fenarel said she looked too white? Or Merrill abruptly suggest that they should rest?

She knew _something_ was wrong.

"What would you have me do?" She asked, wondering if that shadow that she had felt when she and Tamlen had first come here was now the taint inside her. If so, she had only just survived with considerable help. They must locate Tamlen as soon as possible. This cave, just being in it was unhealthy.

Duncan gave her a long, considering look. "First, We deal with the mirror, it is a pestilence and a threat."

Without further ado he took the hilt of his sword and slammed it down on the mirror glass. There was a large, unnatural crack that sounded in the normal chiming sound of shattering glass.

"Now, let us leave this cursed place. I must speak with the keeper immediately regarding your cure."

"I can't believe you just did that!" Ishafel started forward, snarling. "That was our only clue to Tamlen's whereabouts! What if it lead to a different part of the cave? He could be sick, dying. We have to find him!"

Duncan face only showed strain and sorrow. "There is nothing we can do."

No. _No_. She refused to accept it. She was still alive. He had to be alive, he just had to be.

"You don't know that!" she snapped, stomping towards him in anger. Merrill whispered her name under her breath. She could see it in both their faces. Merrill and Fenarel believed the shem, believed that Tamlen was lost.

"Just because the Keeper says he is a shem of high standing, does not mean you are allowed to give up when he says it's hopeless." she shouted at them.

Duncan raised an eyebrow at the common eleven slur for human, he crossed his arms in front of his chest impatiently. He actually had the nerve to be impatient with her, Ishafel fumed to herself. He was telling her to just give up on a friend, her best friend, her.. more-than-a-friend friend.

"Let me be very clear. There is _nothing_ you can do for him. He's been tainted for three days now, unaided. Through your keeper's healing art and your own willpower you did not die. But Tamlen has no chance. Trust me when I say that he is gone. Now, we should return."

She glared at him, fire in her eyes "I'm not ready to give up the search just yet."

He sighed, "If you prefer, I can wait while you look around. But trust me when tell you he will not be here." He strode to the door, but turned when he reached it. "I suggest, however leaving sooner rather than later. You are sick, whether you feel it or not, and it does _you_ no good to linger."

Even if she had not been sick, the search would have been exhausting. She left no stone unturned, no nook or cranny of the whole ruin undisturbed. Twice they found hidden rooms, but while they contained treasure, they did not contain Tamlen. It was the sheen of sweat and her rapidly paling face that forced Merrill to call off the search. She and Fenarel practically had to drag her back to the entrance. They returned to camp with Duncan in silence. Ishafel was practically shaking with rage. Nobody said anything until they were in the camp and the keeper approached them almost at a run.

"I'm relieved at your return! And I did not expect to see you again so soon, Duncan. Dare I ask of Tamlen? What did you find of him?"

"Nothing," Ishafel choked back a sob, she would not cry in front of the shemlen, "He's gone."

The color drained out of Keeper Marethari's face. "I see, Merrill, what about the mirror? Did you bring anything back?"

"I can answer that, Keeper, I destroyed it" Duncan interjected.

Keeper Marethari looked at him, incredulous. "I had planned to use it to find a cure for this illness. I trust you have a reason for these actions."

"There is much to discuss."

"Come then, let us talk privately in my aravel."

Merrill was sent to warn the hunters of the darkspawn. They walked together toward the group of hunter aravels. She placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, but Ishafel brushed it off.

"I will see Hahren Paivel about preparing a service for Tamlen and...I will speak with Da'ben."

She was almost afraid of the conversation with Tamlen's father. How could she explain to the man his only son was dead because she had failed him?

"Ishafel, we all cared for Tamlen. You do not suffer alone" Merrill said quietly.

"It was my fault, Merrill. I could have dragged him out of that cave before any of this occurred." she was sobbing now, and stopped for a moment to recover herself.

"No, you don't. How could you have known?" She carefully wrapped her friend in a hug. Ishafel was stiff in her arms. Belatedly, she remembered that the girl had never liked being touched.

Ishafel shook her off as they parted ways. For the first time in her life Merrill felt pity for her. She was the girl with no parents to call her own and who had been in more trouble than half the hunters combined in their lifetimes. She was always the first to calculate the positive, the silver lining in the worst situation. There had been no situation that could not be turned to good use. Seemingly important things had never caused her grief, not ever before had she seen her so sorrowful. Isha was the girl who always had a laugh and a smile to give, even at the worst of times. Seeing her like this was a sobering sight.

Da'ben was mute when Ishafel came to speak with him. Perhaps he had expected that the boy would not be found. Tamlen's mother had died when he was young. He had been all that his father had left of her. He did not protest her offer to go to the Hahren for him. She left uncertainly, half expecting him to call out to her as she left. Although she walked slowly, he did not. The service was prepared quickly. The Hahren was morose. The mood of the service appropriately somber. The entire clan gathered to hear the story of Tamlen's life and how he had met his end. Together they sang him back to the forest. The only surprise was that the keeper had delayed so long in coming. Towards the end of the ceremony Piavel and Ishafel could see them, still deep in conversation, coming toward the gathering.

"This gray warden? Is he a good man?" The Hahren asked, his appraising gaze on Duncan

"I honestly do not know, Hahren."

"What is it he stayed to talk about, I wonder? Perhaps, you should go ask."

Ishafel did not want to ask. The feeling of foreboding she had felt in the cave snuck it's dark tendrils into her heart again. She was not going to like whatever they had been talking about, the feeling assured her, she should just run the other way and find Tamlen. She took a moment to check her urges, why on earth would she want to run into the forest alone after a darkspawn attack of all things, and Tamlen...

Tamlen was gone. Even if there was a way to find him, she would not know where to start.

She coughed suddenly and the cough turned into hack that drew the attention of several people, the Keeper and Duncan included.

They walked over as the Hahren helped her steady herself.

"Your keeper and I have spoken and we have come to an arrangement that concerns you."

She coughed again, and this time felt her keeper's soothing healing magic shimmer around her. The cough immediately subsided. Duncan just continued as though nothing had happened.

"My order is in need of help, you are in need of a cure. When I leave I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."

She fought back the urge to laugh. Her? A Grey Warden? Surely this was a joke?

"What does this have to do with my cure?" she remarked crossly.

"Everything, I'm afraid. The darkspawn taint courses through your veins. That you recovered at all is remarkable."

She could hear the puzzled admiration in his voice. He was not joking, then. He really wanted her to join The Wardens.

"Eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us."

He was going to _blackmail_ her? She looked at the Keeper for some kind of sign of indignation. She saw none. Ishafel did not like where this was going, not at all.

"Can't you just give me the cure?"

"The cure is only found by joining the Grey wardens. But this is not charity. We enlist only the worthy and you have certainly proven yourself."

Rage bubbled inside her. Had she been considering it, what he said next would have made her say no instantly anyway.

"Should you join it is unlikely that you'll ever be able to return here."

That did it.

"I would rather take my chances, I refuse to go."

Marethari just shook her head sadly. "Long ago the Dalish agreed to aid the grey wardens against a Blight, should that day arrive. We must honor that agreement."

"Keeper," she could not keep the pleading out of her voice. Marethari put Ishafel's hand on her shoulder, her eyes were suspiciously bright.

"It breaks my heart to send you away, as it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty, and your salvation."

"This is my home! This is all I've ever known!"

"A home that darkspawn may tear apart. This way you can find a cure and protect your clan. Have courage."

His voice sounded almost reassuring, but it was tinted with something else that she decided was annoyance. Duncan was clearly annoyed by her resistance. She did not know how he thought being parted from everything she had ever cared about _and_ being told she would never see any of it again could be considered an honor.

Ishafel was openly crying now, something she had not done since she was very young. Hot tracks of tears ran down her cheeks. Keeper Marethari was also crying, she pulled Ishafel into a tight hug.

"I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters into such danger, away from the clan that loves her. But if this is what the creators intend for you, Da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."

Ishafel wiped the tears from her eyes. "If this is my duty, then I will go."

Duncan seemed pleased, he also seemed to have completely overlooked the fact that the two elves were in tears over the decision. Ishafel thought it must be because he considered what he was offering to be such an honor. She suddenly realized that she could very easily hate this shem, despite what the keeper had often said about not judging others by their race.

"I welcome you to the order. It is rare to have a Dalish among us, but they have always served with distinction. So are you ready to go?"

For the first time, Keeper Marethari shot Duncan a look, and unlike the granite resistance he had to Ishafel's glares, he immediately backed off. The Keeper motioned to the rest of the clan. "Come then, Da'len, before the creators guide you from us, let your clan embrace you one last time."

Most of the clan was horrified at what Marethari told them. Several of the hunters outright protested, saying the Duncan could be pulling a shem trick. Ishafel hugged each and every one of her clanmates, lingering the longest on Ashalle, the woman who had stepped in for her mother when she had disappeared into the moonlight. She dropped an amulet around Ishafel's neck, it was wood and silver, carved intricately with symbols of wolves and the forest. "It was your mother's, may the creators keep you safe, Isha." then the elderly elf burst into sobs and it was all Ishafel could do to pull herself away. Ilen gave her a new bow to make a history for. She made Merrill promise to keep an eye on Fenarel. As she turned to go with Duncan, one final elf distinguished himself from the general crowd of well wishers. Da'ben. The look he gave Ishafel was that of someone still grappling to except that all their hopes and expectations had been irrevocably shattered. She still did not know what she could say to him. Thankfully, he did most of the speaking.

"Tamlen would want you to have this, Isha. He meant to give it to you when he asked you to bond with him, I know he would want you to have it still."

It was a beautiful dagger, the hilt carved with ancient symbols of luck, safety and good fortune.

"I-Thank you." She said to his back as Da'ben disappeared into the crowd. It was with a heavy heart that she left her clan. She turned back, just once, to look at the ridge that she had come from. Both Merrill and Fenarel stood there. Merrill lifted one hand in silent farewell. She nodded, and then they were gone.

Duncan watched the girl very carefully over the next few days. The taint was spreading. Not only could he feel it, but he could not help but see she was getting paler. She slept fitfully when she slept at all. The plan was fairly simple, they would continue on to the town of Rosings, a small settlement on the edge of the forest. Duncan had left instructions for any important missives to be left for him at the inn there. Hopefully there would be nothing pressing and they could continue on to Ostagar with all due haste. Perhaps it was her illness that made her quiet, but he doubted it. Ishafel had said only a handful of words to him after leaving her clan, He had tried to be as accommodating as possible, explaining some of what her duties as a warden might be and the situation at Ostagar, but she had absorbed all of it in silence. For two days, she continued as such until they reached Rosings. The town was small and not impressive for Duncan at all, but Ishafel's eyes nearly popped out of her head. In short acerbic sentences, she began to ask him questions "What is the purpose of this?" and "What is that for". They even managed to have a small conversation about the village chantry without Ishafel attempting to glare at him. He cut the walk around the town short when it became clear that Ishafel was pushing herself to keep walking.

The Rose and Thorn was a clean, well kept inn that was also the town watering hole. Duncan watched the townspeople carefully for their reaction to a dalish in the midsts. Despite being rallied against the dalish a few days ago, it seemed that nobody recognized dalish armor. They thought Ishafel just another alienage elf. The bartender greeted him with pleasure and Duncan introduced Ishafel as another Warden. She was surprised by the courtesy the man showed her, but Ducan was even more surprised when she returned it in kind. They were shown to two rooms across the hall from each other. Before leaving the innkeeper handed Duncan a hefty sheaf of papers. Much had happened while he was gone, it seemed. Ishafel retired to her room without a word and Duncan went to catch up on his work. It was several hours later when there was a soft knock on his door and a serving girl came in, bearing two plates of food.

"Henrick says it's on the house, ser" her voice was slightly accented and it took Duncan a moment to catch the words. She placed the first plate on the desk and the second on a small table next to the couch.

"I tried to give your friend hers, but she told me she wasn't hungry. Begging your pardon sir, but she looks quite ill. Maybe you could talk into eating some? the food's quite good, and I'm not just saying that neither. It'll help her keep up her strength. If she needs something lighter, just let me know. Melly and I can make her a good broth, it's no trouble." The girl smiled slightly.

"Thank you, you are most kind. I'll see to it that she takes care of herself."

The girl curtseyed and left. Duncan took the plate of food and knocked on Ishafel's door quietly. There was no reply.

"Ishafel?"

"It is open, Duncan."

She sat at her desk with her head in her hands, she looked up at him. Her eyes were red rimmed, almost crimson on her taint paled skin, and it was very clear she had been crying. He pulled up a chair next to her. She just continued to look at him, almost unseeing.

"How are you feeling?" he ask gently.

Duncan was familiar with loss, more so than he ever wanted to be. It was loss that had brought him to the wardens in the first place. Letting it out, letting grief bleed away was the only was to recover. He had not had an unchecked taint sapping his health while he grieved though. The two together might just have the power to kill. She certainly looked as though she was getting worse. Although her skin showed no blackness that would signal the change into darkspawn, her eyes were a shade lighter and it was apparent she was still unable to sleep.

"Tired, but there are nightmares. I don't want to sleep if I have to dream that."

He placed the food in front of her, the hot steam curled into her face. "You have it much harder than those who normally join. I do not think we have had a case like this before. Normally, the nightmares come after. You should eat, it will keep you strong and strength is the key to survival."

She stared at the food blankly. Reaching, Duncan tried a different approach.

"Your friend, Tamlen, would not want you to die this way. Your people would not want you to go down without a fight. Keep yourself strong and I promise you you will have the chance to avenge what you have lost."

"You don't have to do that." She gave him a harsh look the was a poor remnant of the fire scorching glares that she gave him when they first met. She was failing, and soon would be past the point where he could save her.

"Still, you have my word."

She rolled her eyes at him and grumbled something that he almost didn't catch.

"It just hurts to chew, and the food doesn't taste right."

Duncan sent down to the kitchen for that good broth the maid had promised almost immediately.

"We are only a few days away, we will start the ritual as soon as we get there. Stay strong."

"The nightmares will stay?" She asked him searchingly. He had not told her much of the ritual that was to save her life, apparently it was a secret.

"The nightmares you will have for the rest of your life." She shuddered. Creators, hopefully it got easier with age.

"As a warden, you will always fight the darkspawn. If they do not come to you, you will go to them. The taint in our bodies is a constant reminder of that. Fight your taint as though it were the darkness that took your friend."

Her eyes flickered slightly, and Duncan could tell with growing satisfaction that he was getting through to her. With steady defiance, Ishafel stuck the spoon into the rice before her and then shoved it into her mouth. She did this as the maid entered with the broth. "That's the spirit, miss, you'll be better in no time with an attitude like that, you will."

The next morning Duncan was surprised to find that Ishafel was dressed and outside before him. She met him with a tight smile.

"Where are we headed now?" She asked him.

"East and then south to the Kocari wilds. It will not take more than two days or so."

"Duncan,"

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for last night"

He nodded in acknowledgment, and gave very slight smile that was hidden by his beard

"You are welcome."

The song was intense, it echoed through his skull. The space was dark, as always. Very faintly Duncan could begin to make out words. The archdemon was calling, calling him to... There was a creature ahead of him in the darkness. The blackness reached out to engulf it, skin white against the black. Not a darkspawn then. He called out and the figure turned. Ishafel. She looked at him, amber eyes wide in fear, and the darkness swallowed her whole. Duncan woke up drenched in sweat. The fire was still burning, and though she was suppose to be standing watch Ishafel laid curled beside it.

Her face was twisted in pain. Duncan reacted swiftly, he grabbed her shoulder and shook,

"Ishafel. Ishafel, wake up."

She mumbled slightly, and although she had been perilously close to the fire she was cold to the touch and sweating. Duncan's mind raced, he was not going to let her die, not after all this. He would give her a chance to fight, as he had promised. The circle tower was only a few hours from here, if he started now he might make it before sunrise. He packed a quickly as possible and tossed her onto his back.

"Please, hold on" he whispered to her.

He started for the tower at a dead run.


	3. Prelude: Chapter 3: A Harrowing Affair

_Authors note: And here we have the introduction of our second hero. This will be the last update for a little while, as I have just started an intership and will have less time to write. In the meantime, prehaps I'll be able to pick up some more reviews and constructive criticism (hint, hint). Enjoy chapter 3 of the Prelude! Oh, I kind of forgot last time but I wanted to give a shout out of thanks to my one reviewer, it is appreciated! _

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Prelude: Chapter Three: A Harrowing Affair

It was a clear night. First cloudless night in ages, Dylan thought to himself. He had snuck up to the top of the tower to stargaze. His favorite activity since childhood, he often had to do it alone. Jowan and Surana had always had a shared fear of heights. Dylan was fond of the roof _because_ of the height. At very top of the tower, the confines of stone and water seemed to end at the night sky. If it was possible he would step out into the stars and leave the ever watching templars behind forever. Settling for the illusion, he lay on his back and traced the constellations with a finger. As a child, templar had once told him that the stars were mages that the Maker had separated from the rest of the world because of their wicked deeds. He placed them in the sky as an example. Surana laughed at him for believing that. The stars, she said, were too joyous for that. Besides, it would be too wonderful to be in a place the templars couldn't reach to ever have it considered a punishment. Her mother used to say the stars were the souls of the ones we loved looking down on us, keeping us safe.

Was she was up there herself now?

The ache in his chest reminded him how much missed her. How could she have failed her harrowing? She was as strong and stubborn as First Enchanter Irving when they came for her. His last memory of her came unbidden to his mind as his fingers traced "The Lady, pointer jumping from star to star. She was shushing him and saying she'd be back soon; her long red hair following her like a train between the templar escorts as she disappeared. He was tracing the constellation "The Hero" when there was a scraping sound and the trapdoor suddenly opened. He scrambled up, excuses on his tongue when he saw that it was only Cullen. Dylan gave a sheepish smile instead.

"You've caught me again, Cul. It was just so beautiful out and-"

Cullen lifted his hand to silence him.

"It is time, Dyl."

"Not breakfast, surely" he joked.

Unfortunately, he knew exactly what Cullen was talking about.

"Greagoir and the other templars are waiting, I told them I wanted to be the one that fetched you." Cullen's voice was matter a fact, but he could hear the earnestness in it. As though he were laying claim to something. He wondered bitterly if this wasn't because he had been away when Surana had died. She had vouched for Cullen when few would even consider taking a templar for a friend. Her trust was what originally made them friends, and they had managed to stay friends even with her gone. The world needed more people like Surana, people willing to attempt to bridge insurmountable rifts between beliefs. Dylan turned his back on Cullen and looked up at the sky. He took a very deep breath and allowed himself to take it all in, the stars, the sky, the night air, for what could be the last time.

"Let's go."

The harrowing chamber looked just as he imagined it would. An empty cavernous place with a spirit font in the middle. Wasn't this always the kind of place where really important mage moments turned out to be? Couldn't they mix it up a little? He had always secretly thought the harrowing would be how long a mage could take a templar droning on about the chantry before snapping; but judging from the spirit font it looked like it would be a journey into the fade instead. Typical. He barely paid attention to Irving's explanation of the lyrium in the bowl. He just wanted to get on with it. He took a sip, and the world went fuzzy. His last tangible thoughts before hitting the floor were wishing that he had paid just a little more attention to that last bit. Within seconds, his body slump forward to the floor. The observers did not move to adjust him. No one was allowed to touch him until he was deemed safe. If Dylan had been awake, he might have dropped a snide comment about having to look like a drunk to pass the harrowing. 'good luck, my boy' Irving thought grimly as he and Greagoir settled in for the night and probably what was to be most of the next day.

"Do you think he will make it?" Greagoir asked after awhile. The waiting period of the harrowing did not normally include small talk.

Irving raised an eyebrow at how causal he sounded.

"I don't think morale could take another blow like Surana. The Templars liked her too, you know."

"The poor girl," he sighed deeply. Surana and Dylan had always been Irving's favorites among the apprentices. Something must have gone terribly wrong. Nobody had seen it coming. The young man in front of him was less reliable than his female counterpart, more prone to his own way than the right one. He had been more worried about Dylan than Surana, and Surana had failed.

A pounding at the door pulled both the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander out of their own thoughts.

"The harrowing has already begun." Greagoir shouted tersely.

"Ser," the unsure voice of the templar initiate warbled softly through the door, "A Grey Warden has just come across the lake with a sick elf. She needs a powerful healer right away."

"So get somebody," Greagoir said in an imperious voice. "Healers abound in the tower."

"Mistress Fane, the one Wynne left in charge while she was gone, said that the only mage with the ability to do any good at this point would be First Enchanter Irving. Begging you pardon, ser, but if she doesn't get help immediately, the Warden thinks she'll die."

"Maker's breath," Irving said quietly, "Greagoir, unseal the door."

"Are you mad, Irving? What if something should slip through?"

"Give the boy some credit, he's only just gone under. Reseal them after I leave."

"What if something should happen? Will you trust my judgement?"

"Unless you give me cause to doubt it, yes. I do not approve of allowing a girl to die just because we are bickering. I have every confidence that Dylan will be back with us soon."

He must have sounded more confident than he felt. Although Greagoir's face went purple, but he did as was requested.

"Take me to the child."

Irving was surprised to see Duncan in the guest room. He would have thought he would have been at Ostagar by now. He looked at the girl, woman really, and his question was answered.

"Darkspawn taint?" he asked wearily.

"A new recruit, she was tainted a few days ago, but until yesterday has shown remarkable resistance to it."

Irving reached out and probed with his magic. She was very far gone and he did not fully know how to treat the taint. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"I'll do my best."

Dylan wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about all this, but he was pretty sure he was not feeling the right thing. Wasn't the harrowing supposed to be awe inspiring? He was actually kind of annoyed as he walked with Mouse through the fade. The sloth demon was nothing like the sloth demons he had read about. They were supposed to be the toughest demons in the fade, not drunk Bearskarn. Mouse led him to where the boss demon was supposed to be and watched as it climbed out of the ground.

"That's it? Really?" he cocked an eyebrow at it, and rubbed his beard absentmindedly. "I thought it would be taller. Huh."

The rage demon was appropriately enraged.

"Do not mock me, mageling! The Mouse and I have eaten hundreds of your brethren. It is a most beneficial arrangement we have together. This time I will make it to the outside."

"Mouse?" Dylan looked at his new companion, who was twitching in fear. "You have to understand they would have come after me. Me! I had to protect myself."

A likely story.

Without another word the demon attacked. Rolling his eyes, Dylan gave it a sound magical thrashing, not that it was very hard. For all the boasting, it was still only a rage demon, the lowest demon on the proverbial pecking chain. Something was off here. Very off.

Mouse was filled with glee. "You did it! You did it! That's the fastest I've ever seen." The twitchy man crossed his arms and stared down at the ash and frost pile with satisfaction. "Your going to be a First Enchanter or someone important. I can tell. Now, would you mind helping me with one more thing before you go?"

"What is it, my friend?" Dylan's guard was up. He knew better than to give favors to someone who would lead him to slaughter, but he was patient. If the demon was truly defeated, shouldn't he be waking up in the chamber now? Mouse's favor must be the key. He gave his new "friend" a false smile and wondered how quickly it would be over.

"I've been stuck here for so long, you see, and all I need is a foothold really. A foothold, and I can get back, you have no idea how horrible its been here.

Ah, that was it.

"You know I can't do that, Mouse. If that ever was your real name..."

Mouse gave him a bitter smile. The thin, reedy voice deepened almost immediately, the malicious glee behind it threw Dylan for a moment. Perhaps he had underestimated him.

"Smarter than the last one I see, Dylan" he chuckled.

A chill went down his spine.

"How do you know my name?"

He had been very careful about saying his name in the fade. According to the old lore, it was a way demons gained hold of you. More modern magic held that contracts were the primary way demons possessed people, but one could never be too cautious.

"She was calling for you when she died." The self satisfied smirk on the rapidly changing face of Mouse was anger inducing. He didn't have to elaborate on who the 'she' was. Dylan fought to keep a stranglehold on his temper as the creature taunted him. It was very clear that 'Mouse' was out of his league, however much he wanted to pummel the creature. "I thought you were the one when you passed through. When someone is devoured, sometimes we catch the feel of their last thoughts. You were her dying wish." he chuckled to himself. "She was trusting, far too trusting to survive. Love, friendship, trust; they are not what they seem here. Nothing is what it seems. To help is sometimes to hurt."

Mouse's body began to contort, growing and towering over him before completely disappearing.

"Just remember, true tests never end."

A slight shift in reality occurred and Dylan felt the call of the real world on him as the demon released his hold. His eyes flew open to see the stone floor of the chamber.

"Amell?" Griegor asked surprised. It was too soon, far too soon. The boy surely must be...

Viciously frowning at the floor, Dylan tried to regain control of his muscles

"Well, That was..._harrowing._"

Greagoir gave a snort. No, that was most certainly Amell.

Irving's second did a quick assessment of him and confirmed it.

"It seems as though congratulations are in order."

Just as Dylan managed to right himself, the Knight Commander gave him a pat on the back nearly sent him back to the floor. The man ought to try to remember he was in plate mail!

Dylan strategically leaned against the spirit font to avoid looking weak in front of the templars. Glancing about for Greagoir's better half, he found Irving was nowhere in sight. Odd.

"Where is Irving?"

He managed to get the question out before his knees rudely decided to buckle. The second grabbed him effortlessly. She was quite fit for a woman and a mage, and managed to pull him upright again even as he waved her away.

"There was an emergency shortly after your harrowing began that called him away. He said if you made it to send you to the apprentice quarters to get some rest. They'll have your new room ready tomorrow." the second said. For all his posturing, his tiredness must have been evident, because she came forward and carefully draped his sagging frame over her, pulling him towards the door

"Oh, come on now, it's nothing to be ashamed of, a few hours of rest and you be back together in no time."

Dylan slept fitfully. In his dream, Surana was fighting Mouse and losing. She screamed his name over and over again as he tried to reach her. He was always too late. Mouse cackled as he tore her to shreds. After the third time, his dream shifted and he saw something new. It was as if he were watching it from a far. A blackness was on the horizon, radiating out where the sun should be. At the very edge of it, there was a woman, but not Surana. He could just make out the pointed tips on her ears. An elven woman. Her black hair was blown back by an invisible wind. ribbons of darkness were entwined about her legs, trying to pull her into something he could not see. She was putting up a vicious fight. He headed towards her, but was blown back, he stood up to try again...

"Dylan? Dylan, wake up!"

He sat up very suddenly, almost bumping his head on the bunk above him.

"You sounded like you were having a nightmare. Does the harrowing do that?"

Dylan didn't even need a minute to parse out who it was.

"You know I can't talk about it, Jowan."

The shaggy, doglike man just laughed. "Well, you can't blame me for trying, can you? Mine will be soon, hopefully."

Jowan had arrived a year before Surana and himself, and was the only one from his arrival group who had not undergone harrowing yet. Jowan took to magic slower than most, but he was still decent. Dylan really didn't understand the delay.

"Lots have been happening while you were out. A Grey Warden is here with a sick recruit. Irving's been with her all night, but it looks like there's no change." Jowan shot him an affectionate grin. "They are saying your harrowing was the quickest in circle history, you know. We were supposed to let you sleep, but I knew you wouldn't want to miss out on the adoration."

Dylan rolled his eyes at his friend, but grinned back all the same.

"Irving will want to speak with you, no doubt. I would head to the guest rooms if you feel up to it. Congratulations, Dylan. Surana would be proud."

Jowan headed in the direction of the chantry part of the tower and Dylan was left to himself for a few moments.

He felt stiff and groggy, but managed to get up anyway. Two of the female apprentices saw him wake and brought him a plate of bread and fruit, pelting him with congratulations. He thanked them for it, smiling winningly as they disappeared in a flurry of giggles and blushes. He had always been popular with the ladies. It was much the same all the way up to the guest rooms, where the mood turned more dire. He guessed which room their ill guest was in by the templars who stood outside. Nodding to the guards, moved inside, and was momentarily stunned by what he saw.

A young elven woman was laid out on the bed. Her skin was much paler than one would expect from one with fever; her dark hair was damp with sweat. It was beyond a doubt the woman from his dream. Was this some bizarre coincidence?

"Oh. Dylan." Irving sounded more tired than he looked, and he looked exhausted, "I heard you had survived. congratulations."

"It seems as though a lot has happened while I have been in the fade. What is her name?"

Duncan was surprised by the young man's question. It was not something anybody had asked after. There had been more pressing matters after all. "Ishafel. Ishafel Mahariel of the Dalish. She is a warden recruit who has been tainted by darkspawn, I was trying to get her to Ostagar before something of this nature happened.

"Ishafel," He murmured to himself. He stepped forward before Duncan or Irving could stop him and took her hand. He could feel the fast, shallow pulse under the skin of her wrist. He wasn't sure why, but she reminded him of Surana. Perhaps it was the look of determination on her face when he dreamt her. To be asked to become a Warden, despite the prejudice against her people? That was an honor. To have the ability to show the world that you were more than the dirt and rot they thought you were? That was a gift. A gift she would never get to use by the looks of it. Would she succumb to the fade creature that held her there? Dylan felt the sudden urge to _do_ something. He was abruptly reminded of the harrowing, where mages and templars played spectator as a young soul was devoured and gave hollow congratulations when it was not. Surana had suffered and died on the flagstones in front of the people who had raised her. He didn't want to live his life forever watching as the people around him perished. This woman was not Surana and he _could_ save her, there was still time.

"Allow me to attempt to heal her, First Enchanter." he said with a ferocity that confused both Duncan and Irving.

"Dylan, I have been at it all night and there is no change, I am afraid she maybe lost to us, my boy. You are already weakened from your harrowing. I would not want to lose you as well.

"Please, just let me try." He took her other hand in his firmly and began to call her.

"Ishafel..."

He fell back into the fade easily. He could see the darkness from his dream, only now it was not on the horizon. No, now it was in front of him, tugging at his robes with a wind that pushed and pulled at the same time. The only difference was she was no longer there.

"Ishafel?" He tried to penetrate the darkness and it shoved him back. It wanted only Ishafel it seemed. Well, he would not let it have its way. Holding out his hands, rested his palms on the inky material of the mass and began to push. There was nothing at first, the creature was solid as stone. Reaching inside himself, applied a bit of magical pressure. The stone veil resisted at first but after a mintue, groaning, it gave way and Dylan fell into a viscous mass of shadow. It rush about him in a runny fluid that would have soaked him clean through if he was anywhere but the fade. Pressing forward, he called out her name "Ishafel! Ishafel, Where are you?"

Ishafel did not know where she was. The darkness, that foreboding feeling she had felt in the cave was all around her, crawling through her skin and skull. She wanted it out. She had to get out, but it kept pulling at her, calling her forward. Faintly, she heard a voice. It wasn't possible was it? Clinging to her last improbable hope, she screamed as loud as she could. The darkness tried to slither down her throat to eat up the sound.

"I'm here! I'm here! Help me!"

At the sound of a female voice, Dylan pushed even harder through the void. He was now practically screaming her name. There was a great roar in his ears, and he felt the sting of astral chunks of skin being pulled from his form as the fuild began to crawl up his arms and towards his muth.

"ISHAFEL!"

The darkness pulled harder, but the voice was closer, "Here, here I am." she croaked. Her throat felt raw. She could not keep this up much longer. She was so tired. She almost thought she was hallucinating when vaguely through the dark she saw a figure. It was a shem, dressed in mages robes, his hair the red orange of fire. Was he real?

Dylan called out again, and this time he saw her, thrashing against the bonds that held her as she responded. The thing that held her was as dark as the darkness it wrapped itself in. With the absence of light, he almost didn't make out the form. He could see the head of a dragon, it's long spindly talons encircling her arms and legs. It was a creature of nightmare. He swallowed hard. What had he gotten himself into?

Opening wide it's mouth, the dragon made ready to consume her.

"No!"

In burst of adrenaline, Dylan leapt forward and grabbed Ishafel by her waist.

"You shall not have this one."

The stranger's touch infused strength back into Ishafel's body. she ripped her arms away forcing back hard, scaly flesh as it groped for her. The dark pulled at her legs forcefully, knocking her off her feet. Frantically, she threw her arms around Dylan and with a final tug he wrested her from the beast. Snatching her up, Dylan gave into his instincts and ran as fast as he was able, focusing on the pinpoint of light he had left when he broke in. Snarling, the dragon creature followed in predatory pursuit. He could feel it's breath on his neck even as the two of them surged out into the light.

"By the maker, he did it."

It took Ishafel a moment to realize she was hugging someone very, very tightly. Her face was buried in auburn hair that smelled like cinnamon and a tangy spice she didn't know. He hugged her back for a moment longer before letting go. The mage smiled at her and she took measure of his face. It looked just as it did in the nightmare only it had more life in it. The face she had thought was on fire was simply red hair and a beard. He also had a dark tattoo over his left eye that she hadn't noticed, partially hidden by his hair. He smiled a dazzling smile at her.

"Ishafel, my dear, it is so good to meet you in person."

From behind him came praise of the highest order,

"Dylan, I have never seen anything like this in all my days, you are amazing! you are-"

Dylan promptly fainted.

The voice, which she could now see belonged to a older man in similar robes, chuckled, "You are sorely in need of a rest it seems." The man called for two guards in armor. Gently, Dylan was carried out. The old man turned to her with a smile.

"Well, welcome to the Tower of the Magi, my dear. How are you feeling?"

Ishafel shook her head, once, twice to clear it.

"A little dizzy," she admitted, "but better than I've felt in days." she looked in wonder at Duncan.

"I feel almost as well as I did before I was tainted."

Duncan raised both eyebrows. That was impossible, he had never heard of a healer who could make that much of a difference in a taint victim. But it did not look as though she was exaggerating. There was a healthy flush in her skin, and her voice had strength in it.

"It's good to here that," he said genuinely, "you were quite close to death's door."

"It death what that dragon was?" she asked drowsily, it seemed the healing had taken something out of her too. She lay back in the bed, contented.

"Well, I've never heard it described-"

"No, that was not death." Duncan interrupted the First Enchanter abruptly.

"Falon'Din be thanked." she muttered, and in moments was asleep.

"Where have you taken the man who cured her?" Duncan asked, watching Ishafel's face slip into the kind of peaceful slumber she had not been privy to since her taint. Her so called brush with death sounded rather like a brush with the archdemon. He had never heard of such an encounter before, but if one thing had be come clear it was that Ishafel was full of surprises.

"The apprentice quarters, he just passed his harrowing tonight." Irving beamed with pride. "He does not get his own quarters until tomorrow."

"I need to make sure the taint has not spread to him. It is unusual for one young mage to be able to make that much of a difference in a taint victim."

The satisfaction on Irving's face flickered.

"I will take you there myself. I assure you that Dylan has always been a powerful healer when he's applied himself."

Dylan did not stir in the slightest when Duncan came to look at him, or even when he examined the burn marks on his arms and legs. The taint had not transfered. Duncan meditated on the man for a moment, before allowing Irving to lead him to his own chambers. He was a force to be reckoned with by the looks of it, and still very young. Perhaps, Duncan thought, looking back as he followed Irving out, the detour had been a blessing in disguise.


	4. Prelude: Chapter 4: Blood Is Thicker

_Author's Note: This chapter took a long time to right and is ridiculously long_, _my apologies. It's still a little rough, but I kind of wanted to just get it out there so I could get out of the prelude and into the meat of the story. I hope you enjoy it. As always, reviews are loved and so is constructive criticism. A big thank you to my reviewers so far, your comments made me smile._

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Prelude: Chapter 4- Blood is Thicker

"Is she awake?"

"Of course not, stupid, her eyes would be open."

"She's pretty. Are all dalish ladies are pretty?"

"Do you think she can talk to animals? Gwimma said they could."

Ishafel twitched, shifted and grudgingly came out of the first real sleep she had in a week. Sitting up slowly, her lids fluttered open to find intruders in her room. Four pairs of eyes stared impassively at her from the edge of the bed, their chins only a little higher than the edge itself. A fifth pair of eyes were scant inches away from her face and belonged to what appeared to be a human youngling.

"Umm.. Hello, youngling." Ishafel said uncomfortably. Was this a common practice of humans to allow the little ones to wander into stranger's aravels?

"I'm not a youngling, I'm a girl." the little girl said indignantly not bothering to back up. The children behind her giggled "I'm Robeana." She jerked her thumb to her chest. Ishafel's eyes slid from the girl's freckled face to her thumb and back up again. "Who are you?"

Ishafel's brain was a realm of disarray, how did one speak to human younglings? She jerked her own thumb to her chest. "My name is Ishafel."

The girl closest to her on the edge of the bed moved even closer, "That's really pretty," she said shyly.

"That's Minda" Robeana introduced the girl, moving so that she was sitting in Ishafel's lap. "next to her is Wallace, the taller one is Mattie, that's Jessup and the baby is Nadi."

Baby? Ishafel craned her head over the side of the bed, sure enough on the floor sat a girl who could not have been more than three winters, her thumb stuck solemnly in her mouth. When Ishafel smiled at her, her eyes grew as big as saucers. After the introductions were finished the children began to happily pelt Ishafel with questions. She answered as fast as she was able, but they always seemed to be two or three questions ahead, impatiently waiting for her to catch up. Mattie lifted up Ishafel's longbow in awe. "You can shoot this?" he tried to bend the wood as he had seen templars do, but it would not curve for him. He rolled up his rather oversized sleeves to try again. Ishafel was of the opinion that humans must dress there children in oversized clothing and expect them to grow into them, all of the younglings were practically drowning in their robes. Fighting his sleeves and the bow all at once, Ishafel gave in and laughed at the grim concentration on his face. "Yes, I can. I'll show you how to string it if you like."

From down the hall came the shush sound of cloth slippers and an exasperated looking woman stuck her head into the room.

"_There_ you are! Gave me a heart attack, you did! You know your not suppose to be running about the tower on you own. Knowing you all, you'll fall into a vat of something and I'll be hearing from Wynne about it for the rest of my natural life. "

"That's Gwimma," Robeana whispered conspiratorially, bouncing on Ishafel's lap. "She's always telling us what to do."

Gwimma suddenly noticed Ishafel among the pile of children and looked horrified.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't see you there!" her eyes narrowed slightly, "What have you been told about bothering the sick?" She herded the group to the door like a sheepdog, stooping to toss Nandi over her shoulder. Robeana struggled in Gwimma's one handed grasp. "You'll come string the bow for us? Right? Please, we promise to be really good if you stop by." she grabbed on to the door frame. "The nursery is on the first floor!" With a firm tug Gwimma pulled the child out of the doorway, the girl's long red plaits following behind. A confused looking Templar entered a moment afterward. His eyes were fixed on the children even as he addressed her, "Ma'am, First Enchanter Irving said to tell you when you feel well enough, to go up to his office on the third floor. He and Duncan will be waiting for you. I can guide you when you're ready." Though she much rather would have hurried, she took her time getting dressed and lacing up her armor. Her muscles were a bit sore and she wondered absentmindedly if it wasn't a side effect of being healed. She never felt out of sorts when being healed at home, perhaps shem healing was different. More likely, the taint was causing problems. Her templar escort kept gazing at her sidelong.

"What is the matter?" she snapped at him, finally unable to take his little looks anymore.

"Are you really a grey warden recruit?" he asked stiffly. "I've never heard of an elf who was..."

He seemed to remember himself and clammed up. Ishafel narrowed her eyes at him.

"An elf that was what?"

"A warrior's life is demanding. I've never heard of an elf who was strong enough for that sort of thing."

"You know many dalish, ser?"

"Well, no, but we have the kitchen elves. They seem not to..."

"You know shem elves. That is the difference." the look on Ishafel's face had become so sour, that the Templar just shut up and did not ask what a shem was.

Dylan was having a satisfying morning. It was not often the mages were allowed to sleep in, but his heroics last night had apparently given him that right. Not even Jowan disturbed him, he woke well past midmorning. He had been directed to Irving's study as soon as he had woke and with much pomp and ceremony, the ending rituals of the harrowing, his new robes and the bestowing of the circle ring, were completed. In addition, Irving congratulated him heartily on the improvement of Ishafel and wanted to discuss Dylan undertaking an intensive study of healing magic from one of the senior mages, since he most obviously had the talent for it.

The idea rankled him. Despite people constantly telling him he had a knack for it, he was not interested in learning to heal beyond what was required to patch field wounds. He wanted to study battlemagic; true battlemagic, not simply primal forms. Politics were against anything that might make mages better able to stand against the templars. Rather, safe arts like healing spells, botany, or potions were pushed on mages. Plus the Templars didn't approve of anyone making a study of battlemagic in tower walls, so beyond a few basic defense spells nobody in the circle really knew anything about it. Outside the circle was another matter entirely, but he doubted the templars would allow him to track down apostates as teachers. Bloody Templars. He was still thinking of how to bring up the matter to Irving, when he heard the "Bitzz" from the door.

"Dylan, over here!" Jowan's voice was barely above a whisper and it looked as though he was doing his best not to be seen. That, of course, was completely nonsensical because the hallway was circular and he was standing in the middle of it. Anybody who had eyes could easily seen him.

"Jowan? What's wrong?"

" I-" he paused as two templars walked by on patrol, "I can't discuss it here, meet me down in the chantry in a few minutes. With that the troubled man took off. Dylan did as he asked. He had always liked the chantry part of the building, not for the religious platitudes of the staff, but the actual wing itself. It was often cooler than the rest of the building, which was a real boon in summer, and the low light gave it a feeling of peace similar to the feeling he got when he was on the roof with his stars. The initiates were busy about there usual chores. At first the only person he saw was Kelli, the circle's resident nutcase, and Dylan did not use that term lightly. If there was anyone who ought to be made tranquil it was Kelli. Luckily, she didn't notice him as he spotted Jowan and headed to his corner.

He knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear when he noticed the striking young initiate standing next to Jowan; the fact that she was holding his hand wasn't a good sign either.

"Dyl, I like you to meet Lily. She's the reason I've been sneaking around so much lately." the look on his face was sheepish. Dylan was so poleaxed over Jowan having a girlfriend, a girlfriend who was training to be a _celibate_ sister of the chantry no less, that all he could do was look at them both dumbly and say "Nice to meet you, Lily."

The couple seemed to takes this as some sort of sign of approval because the tension in the air around them got visibly lighter and Lily rushed out to shake Dylan's hand.

"It's so nice to finally meet you. Jowan has told me so much about you." she said laughing. She had a nice laugh, like chiming bells. He could easily see why Jowan was smitten with her.

"You were right though, Jowan, this is a problem. The chantry doesn't approve of mage relationships, much less with one of their initiates." That tension was back.

"That's not the problem," Jowan said shaking his head. "I've been here how long, Dylan? I keep asking about my harrowing and Irving keeps making excuses. I'm beginning to think they aren't going to give it to me."

Dylan almost laughed "Jow, they can't just not give you the harrowing, the only other option would be to make you..."

"Tranquil." Lily finished for him, that pretty face of her's exceedingly grim. "And that is what they plan to do."

"What?" Dylan was beginning to dislike the fact that this woman threw him so off balance.

"I saw the paperwork, signed by Irving himself" she confirmed.

"There has to be some explanation for this." He wondered aloud. "Let me go to Irving on your behalf-"

"No! You won't change his mind, Dylan. I'll lose everything that makes me a human being. My friendship with you, my love for Lily, they'll get rid of it all and leave me a hollow shell. I can't sit by and just let them kill me without striking me dead." Jowan looked at him in desperation. "You must help us. Please."

A headache was forming in Dylan's temples, he brought up his hands to try to massage the unpleasantness away. This was the way things always were with Jowan. Perhaps that was why the man had so few friends in the tower. When it came down to actually doing something dangerous or risky, he would always beg Dylan and Surana to go first, like a canary down a mineshaft.

"What exactly do you think I can do about this?"

"Well, I did some digging, and I found out that Jowan's phylactery is stored here, and not in Denerim. If we were to destroy it..."

"Then the Templars couldn't use the blood to find you when you ran. You do realize they have other methods of tracking you, right?"

"Once we are far enough, those methods will be useless."

Dylan shook his head in disbelief.

"What will you do, Jowan? You've been a mage all your life. Magic is the only thing you know. How will you survive without it?"

"There are apostate mages out there, and people willing to barter with them. It won't be as hard as the templars would want you to think."

"Well, it sounds like the two of you have it all figured out. What do you need me for?"

"To get to the phylactery chamber, we need a rod of fire. Only full fledged mages can request that sort of thing..."

"Give me one good reason why I should do this, Jowan. One reason that I should put myself into a templar's noose for you."

"Because all your life you have wanted the same thing. It isn't right to strip a person of feeling just because they want what everyone else has. Mages are robbed of choice, not once are we ever allowed to make a decision for ourselves. I bet you Irving wants you to go into healing magic, because of your little miracle. Not what you wanted, I know, but he will calmly explain to you that its for the good of the circle that your talents are put to the best possible use and that will be that. There'll be no fighting him then. For once in your life do something because you want do it and not "for the circle".

"I'll think on it." Dylan turned on his heel and walked away.

"I don't know if he'll accept, Duncan. Dylan can be very stubborn and he is so devoted to the circle. He may not want to leave his home, and I could hardly force him-"

"What you are really saying is that you don't want to give him up." Ishafel said irritably.

Their departure from the tower had been delayed. Duncan wanted to recruit the fire haired mage that had saved her life, and apparently the first enchanter though if he talked at Duncan enough he would give up the idea. Clearly, the man had not know Duncan long enough.

"We will have to ask him to know for sure" Duncan sounded amused at her outburst.

A hard knock on Irving's door ended the conversation.

"Come in" the door swung open to reveal Dylan, who only seemed to see Irving. He marched up to the desk, anger evident in his stride and the way he slammed both fists down on the top of the desk when he reached. "We need to talk."

"Dylan" Irving met his anger with cool impasse. "We were just discussing you."

He was startled from his anger when he saw Duncan and Ishafel, standing behind to him.

"Good morning," he said it curtly, and then because he suddenly felt a pang of guilt for venting anger on two people with nothing to do with the situation, he said in a softer tone. "It is good to see you both. How are you feeling, Ishafel?"

"Well enough to travel. Duncan and I were just discussing our departure plans with Irving."

Her eyes moved slowly from Irving to Dylan and back, questioning.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Duncan, but I need to speak to the First Enchanter privately." A flash of his previous anger showed through the mask of his reserve.

"Amell" although it was commonplace for all but the senior mages to be called by their last name, it was something that Irving only did when he was truly enraged with a student. "I hardly think that whatever is bothering you is severe enough to interrupt Grey Warden business."

"It is all right, First Enchanter, we have further preparations to make before we leave. Dylan, I hope you will come find me when your business is completed. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Duncan left the room with a quick nod to them both. Ishafel followed, but she did not hide her curiosity, looking back at him over her shoulder with one eyebrow quirked. She shut the door behind her.

"Now perhaps you like to tell me what has you so riled up that you have forgotten your sense of decorum?

"Is it true you are going to have Jowan made tranquil?"

"So that snooping initiate that he so fond of went off and told him did she."

Dylan must have looked surprised that Irving knew about Lily, because the first enchanter gave him a caustic look.

"Don't be so stunned, my boy. I know almost everything that goes on in this tower. I would have known even if Jowan had not been so blatantly obvious about it. As to making him Tranquil, I'm sorry Dylan, I do not want to do it myself. But Greagior has brought proof that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. It would be too dangerous to allow him to take his harrowing."

The surprises were ever continuing today. "Jowan practicing blood magic? Jowan? The same Jowan who had to work for three months to get a simple cold spell right? That Jowan? You have to be kidding!" Dylan scoffed.

Irving frowned. "The evidence is irrefutable, Dylan. No doubt Jowan has already asked you to help him escape along with that chantry mouse of his. My only real regret is that the chantry will try to blame Jowan's weakness on the circle, we must make sure that the Chantry girl is held responsible as well."

"Surely, you are joking. Jowan is my closest friend, ser. I will not betray that trust."

"This is not about friendship Dylan, It's about the good of the circle. Producing blood mages is bad for our image, it will cause the chantry to come down harder on us. We must show them we are capable of taking care of ourselves by not shirking unpleasantness when it comes to dealing with our own."

"You and I seem to have a fundamental difference of opinion there, ser. I don't know what you are planning to catch Jowan. I don't want to know. But I won't be a part of it, if they ask me for help again I will refuse outright. All I can tell you is that they plan to leave on the new moon two weeks from now."

He looked away from the first enchanter, shaking slightly.

"I appreciate you doing your duty, Dylan. Really I do."

Dylan gave a short bow before taking his leave. He was headed the storeroom, he needed a rod of fire as soon as possible.

"Now!" the little clay disk sailed down the large stone training hall. Ishafel's reaction was that of a well oiled machine. Her arm swung up, she pulled the drawstring back, and let loose her arrow. The disk shattered in colorful pieces. The children clapped, overjoyed. The nursery had not been large enough for a proper demonstration, so with a full escort of two templars to oversee they had gone to the templar's practice range. It had been a hard won battle. Fussing and puppy dog eyes had gotten them nowhere at first. Both Gwimma and Ishafel had tried the puppy dog eyes as well and afterward Ishafel was sure that they had made the templars that much more resolved to say no. They were about to give up on the plan entirely when a young templar with cinnamon colored hair came down the hall.

"Oh perfect!" Gwimma whispered, and then called down the hall, "Cullen!"

The templar came to the door with a warm smile that seemed out of place for someone in his uniform. Ishafel hadn't realized that she thought the templars unfeeling until that moment.

"Have you met Ishafel? She is our visiting Dalish elf, on her way to Ostagar."

Cullen made a short bow, "It is an honor to meet you, dear lady"

Ishafel gave him a small smile and nodded, not sure what Gwimma was driving at.

"Ishafel is teaching the children about Dalish culture. It is very educational. We were wondering if you might let her show the children..."

"We said no, Gwimma. You need to learn to take no for an answer." The templar that had been guiding Ishafel about all day interrupted Gwimma sharply.

"But it's not going to hurt anyone-"

"Learn you place mage, you have no jurisdiction when it comes to these matters."

"And neither do you, Ser Harold." Cullen's face had gone stormy, "let her finish."

"We were wondering if Ishafel might show the children how she shoots her bow. I know the templars have a training room for such things. She wouldn't show them how to use it, just give a demonstration. We can take Ser Harold and Ser Jordain with us."

At this the children came out of the room and turned the fury of their puppy dog stare on Cullen, who smiled at them.

"Well, I don't see what's so wrong about that, Harold. I've just gone off duty, Jordain can stay on watch and you and I will take them down to the range." The children let up a cheer.

"You are very kind, ser." she said to him, as he helped Gwimma with the children, there were another six that hadn't gone to Ishafel's bedside, two of them babies like Nadi. Cullen blushed a little bit.

"I know, I know. It'll probably come back to haunt me later."

She was on her six or seventh demonstration when Dylan crashed down the hallway like a thundercloud. She placed down her bow immediately and went into the hall.

"Dylan?"

He whirled around at the sound of his name. He was clutching a small stick so tightly his knuckles had turned white from the exertion.

"Good Maker, Dylan! What is the matter!" Cullen had followed Ishafel into the hall and was clearly not used to seeing such a grim expression on his friend's face."

"Irving and I have just had a terse conversation about the future, I need to work it off." his voice was tense and carried undercurrents of something much more urgent, but Cullen seemed to believe him.

"Don't worry about it, Dyl. Irving will probably let you have your way in the end. One of his little tests to keep you sharp."

He nodded wordlessly, and Cullen drifted back into the training room and into to conversation with Gwimma. Ishafel stayed in the hall, uncertain.

"Really," he said in a voice that should have been convincing, "I am fine."

"I don't believe you, but I respect the fact that you want privacy" She turned to go back into the training room.

"Wait."

She looked back at him.

"What would the Dalish do if... if somebody close to them was in wanted something that the rest of the clan did not want, something he was forbidden from doing?"

"The Dalish do not keep their own against their will, if he or she can not be swayed, the clan will let them go their own way and we would go ours.

"What if leaving the clan wasn't an option?"

"Dylan, what is this about?" her eyes searched his face, but he would not give up his secrets

"People do not always know what is good for them" she thought for a moment of Tamlen and the mirror. "It is our duty as clan members to show them the right path. But not to confine them. The clan is made of its members. If a member truly believes something then it is our duty as a clan to consider there reasoning and to respect their decision."

The gears in his head were turning, "Thank you, Ishafel." He turned to go.

"Dylan."

He looked back at her.

"I hope it helps."

He had suspected that Lily and Jowan would still be at the chantry. Dylan placed the rod in his pocket.

"Dylan!" Lily exclaimed, surprised but happy.

"I thought you wouldn't come back." Jowan said softly, the relief in his face was self evident.

Dylan let his eyes rest heavily on Jowan's face and then on Lily's. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

The resolve in their eyes never wavered. Dylan sighed "Irving is on to you. We are going to have to do this right now if we are going to do it at all."

"But, but" Jowan spluttered.

"If you are going to have any chance at all, it has to be now."

"Alright," Lily answered for the two of them. She led the way into the main hall, It was empty, and after checking to makes sure the coast was clear, Dylan tapped the rod of fire on the lock. It burst with it was a thankfully small explosion and the three of them slipped into the basement.

It occurred to Dylan that he had never been in this part of the tower before. There were of course restricted sections, but a large majority of them were roped off by Irving to test the young apprentices' problem solving skills, so they weren't really restricted. The air was unnaturally cold as they approached the first door.

"This is the victim's door. It is made from 277 planks, one for each of the original templars.

"Cute" Dylan remarked, staring critically at the wood and iron monstrosity.

"It's sealed by magic and can only be opened by a mage and a templar together. The mage provides the magic and the chantry provides the password. Shall we?" Lily turned to face the door, sizing it up.

"Sword of the maker, Tears of the Fade"

Dylan looked dumbstruck at her "How did you get the password?"

"Oh, I was chatting with a templar I know, and he told me. It doesn't work without magic, you see, so what the harm in telling?"

He suddenly understood why she wanted to leave. A woman like this was wasted in the chantry. A small peal of alarm went through his brain. This was becoming too easy. Irving knew they were up to something, and Lily just happened to convince a templar to tell her the password?

"Cast a spell, any spell, at the door."

The electricity slammed into the door with a jolt, and it swung open.

They hurried forward to the next door.

"Quick, use the rod on the lock!"

With a flourish, Dylan pointed the rod at the door.

Nothing happened, not even a bit a smoke.

"Something's wrong" Jowan moved his hands forward as though use his magic but his end result was nothing. "I can't cast any spells here."

"Wait," Dylan looked very closely at the markings on the door. "Look at the runes..."

"Of course, that's why they used a regular lock at this door. The templars must have made it so you cannot use magic here!" Lily pounded her fist against the door in frustration. "Now what are we supposed to do."

"There must be another way. Let's try that door." Dylan re-flourished the rod at the door on the right. With a somewhat louder explosion than last time, the door swung back on it's hinges. The sound echoed down the hall.

"Great! Let's explore the repository. There must be something..." Lily was cut short as a white yellow figured surged in front of them.

"What in the Maker!" Jowan stumbled back as the creature attacked. Dylan cursed under his breath, he should have know that the repository would be protected in some way. The made as quick work as they could of the creature and more appeared. They pushed forward despite the number of guardians. He was surprise at Lily's skill with a blade. By contrast, he was extremely grateful that Jowan had been forced to learn how to use a staff, mind you he really couldn't fight with it to save his life which was why Lily was practically guarding his person, but it did amplify his magic. He watched the two of them as Lily picked cobwebs off of Jowan. They looked happy. He was doing the right thing, he told himself. A nagging voice in the back of his head begged to differ, but he shut it out. This would work. He would get them out. He had to.

The repository was an odd cross between prison and monastery, and a through investigation led to a room piled high with artifacts. In short, it was the motherload of all forbidden things.

"Look at this place!" Jowan's voice was filled with uncharacteristic glee. It wasn't like Dylan couldn't understand as he browsed the titles on the bookshelf. Battlemagic books; he knew Irving had hid them somewhere. Only high level magi who had proved their worth to the chantry were allowed to study it, and even they almost never used it, but he knew there had to be texts somewhere in the tower. He carefully removed _Battlemagic: Theory and Application_ from the shelf and tucked the dusty volume into his robes. If he was going to be bad, he might as well be bad all the way.

"Dylan, look at this." Jowan pointed to a wall blocked by a bookcase. The little bit of it that was showing was crumbling, and beyond it he could see the phylactery chamber.

"Help me move this"

After the bookcase was moved both mages blasted spells at the wall to make it crumble, but nothing worked. In frustration, Jowan grabbed the rod of fire and threw it at a statue of a mabari in front of the wall. A huge stream of fire shot forth and they were barely able to get clear in time. The wall was decimated.

"Well", Jowan sputtered, "That worked"

They climbed through into the chamber.

"There it is! Jowan's phylactery!"

"It's hard to think, so much trouble, for this little thing." Jowan looked at it almost reverently before smashing it on the stone as hard as he was able.

"It's a pity that they sent yours to Denerim already, Dyl." Jowan sounded apologetic, but Dylan just shook his head. Lily reached out from behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You could come with us, you know. You are smart enough to evade the templars, even if they do have your phylactery."

He just shook his head again; he didn't know what to say. It was all happening so fast.

"Let's just hurry, we have to get the two of you out of the tower as soon as possible."

Running out of the previously locked door, they hurried up the stairs and out the basement door and...

Right into the waiting embrace of Greagoir and the templars.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Not one word. Then every one tried to speak at once.

Finally Greagoir won out.

"So what you said is true, Irving."

"I assure you, this isn't what it looks like." Dylan lied, he knew it was pretty much what it looked like. What he wasn't was going down without a fight.

"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I am disappointed, Lily."

She held her head up defiantly, not quaking under Greagoir's admonishment.

"And this one, newly a mage and already flouting the rules of the circle."

Irving gave Dylan a hard look, almost the match for the one that Greagoir had given Lily.

"You told me you were going to stay out of this, Amell. You knew I was going to take care of this, and you willfully defied me."

"I'd rather use my own judgment than be an obedient sheep. Jowan has done nothing wrong, and you are willing to make him tranquil on a rumor?" Dylan remarked scathingly. So much for lying his way out.

"You don't care for the mages." Jowan added. "You just bow to the Chantry's every whim."

Irving looked like him was about to retort but Dylan cut him off.

"He's right, you don't care for the mages."

The templars closed ranks around them.

"No!" Jowan shouted, "I won't let you take her!"

Dylan couldn't comprehend what he was seeing as Jowan slammed the pin holding the top of his robes together into his palm. He saw the blood rush out and overwhelm not just the templars, but everybody, himself included, but he didn't believe it. He only believed it when his head slammed into the stones on the floor and he was in far too much pain to be having a dream.

"Lily, come..."

The only one left standing, she stared at Jowan in absolute horror.

"Blood magic... How could..."

"I only dabbled! I thought if I learned a little I could protect us!"

He held his blood free hand out to her but she backed away.

"Get away from me! I don't know you anymore!"

"Lily!"

There was a pounding of boots on the floor, the templars were coming. Jowan took one last glance at Lily and Dylan, his eyes pleading and then he was gone. Groaning, the templars and Irving came to.

"Are you alright?" Where's Greagoir?" Irving said to the two of them and a pang of guilt spread through Dylan. Jowan was wrong, Irving did care, he knew that. But he failed to see that things needed to change. The knight commander sat up, clutching his head. "I knew it! Blood magic! But to overcome so many. I never believed Jowan capable of that much power."

"I can't believe he just did that." Dylan felt betrayed yet again. Surana, and now Jowan; he had lost the two people who had been the most important to him. He felt alone, even surrounded by people as he was.

The look on Irving's face was undeservedly understanding. "None of of expected this."

Greagior got to his feet. "Are you alright, Greagoir?"

"As good as can be expected given the circumstances." he snapped "If you had let me act sooner, this would not have happened."

"He can't have gone far" Dylan pointed out, "You can still capture him."

He got a glare for his trouble.

"Believe me, we will use every resource. Where is the girl?"

Lily stepped out of the shadows. "I...I am here, ser."

The knight commander motioned to the fallen templars around him. "You have helped a blood mage! Look at all he's hurt!"

"That's unfair, Lily didn't know he was a blood mage!" Dylan tried to intercede.

"Don't you think you caused enough trouble for one day, Amell? Hold your tongue."

Lily gave him a bitter smile. "You've been a true friend, but you needn't defend me any longer." she turned back to the knight commander. "I was wrong. I...I was an accomplice to a blood mage."

He waved a hand. "Get her out of my sight. And _you. _You know why the repository exists. Some things are locked away for a reason!"

Dylan felt his 'borrowed' book burn a hole in his robes.

"Did you take anything?" Irving asked.

Dylan was surprised the lie came out as smooth as it did. "No, sir"

"Your antics have made a mockery of this Circle! What are we to do with you?"

Dylan did not waver. "Do as you like. I stand by my decision to help Jowan. He did nothing until provoked."

Greagoir look like he was about to explode from rage.

"You have assisted a blood mage."they could probably hear him half way to Redcliffe the way the was shouting. "All our preventive measures have come to naught because of you! I-"

"If I may..." Duncan's calm voice distracted everyone for a moment. "I am recruiting gray wardens. Irving has spoken highly of this mage and I myself have seen his skills in action. He has a lot of potential. I would like him to join the warden's ranks."

Dylan didn't know which of the three of them was more surprised. Irving was the first to recover, probably because he wasn't surprised in the least Dylan noted. So that's what they had been discussing.

"Duncan, this mage has assisted a maleficar, and shown a lack of disregard for the circle's rules."

The knight-commander made a sweep of Dylan's figure. "He is a danger. To all of us."

Duncan gave a Dylan a long hard look. Something, Dylan couldn't put his finger on it, passed between them. Duncan was still holding his stare when he started to speak. "It is a rare person indeed that risks everything for a friend. I will recruit this mage."

Greagoir was turing purple again. "No! I refused to let him go unpunished."

It was at this tense moment that Ishafel and Cullen entered the room. Ishafel had two children on her hip and a third clinging to her leathers. The seriousness on the faces of those in the room shattered the jovial mood.

"What has happened?"

"Cullen, Take this, this _mage_ into custody." Greagoir was still quite purple. Gwimma quickly hurried the children from Ishafel and Cullen, taking the long way round to their quarters. Everyone in the tower knew how Greagoir could get when he was in a bad way. Not even the littlest mages were safe.

"You mean Amell, ser? What-"

"Did you not hear me? I said-"

"If you touch him in anyway, I will have to strike you down. The Right of conscription supersedes the chantry. I will be well within my rights in this matter."

Irving sighed deeply. "You may as well give up, Greagoir. The boy has talent. Let him go somewhere where he can do good."

Greagoir looked truly venomous. The knight commander took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the beet-like color leaving his face. "His future actions are on you, Warden. Take him and go."

Duncan nodded to Greagoir's back as the Knight-commander walked off in a snit. Irving watched him go with a odd sort of satisfaction "You have been given a second chance. Do not waste it."

Duncan nodded to Ishafel, "Come, we leave now."

"Irving" Dylan called out to him as Ishafel was saying her goodbyes to the children by proxy to Cullen.

The First enchanter stop and turned.

"Thank you. For everything."

The First Enchanter gave Dylan an assessing glance, and smiled slightly before walking away.

With those last words, Dylan left the place that had been his home for his whole life.

He wasn't sorry in the slightest.

The next four days were a learning experience. That was what Dylan told himself anyway. Duncan and Ishafel kept a brisk pace, and it was clear that both were used to traveling over rough terrain. The first night he fell into his bedroll and could not be woken to keep watch at his appointed time. Duncan had slowed the pace only a little after that. Dylan had always kept in shape but he was not used to walking for long stretches and tired quickly. Despite what he said Duncan seemed wary of him, his conversations seemed guarded, but he was pleasant enough. Ishafel said almost nothing to him the first day or the second. It was the night of the third day, when he was on watch, that she finally spoke her piece to him. The plains sloping into the Kocari Wilds allowed a beautiful view of the sky and while it wasn't as all encompassing as the tower. The Sky was a pleasant enough diverison. She snuck up on him. One moment he was enjoying himself, the next he had a danger pressed to his back.

"The point of being on watch is to be vigilant." She stated dryly.

He didn't know what to say. He couldn't very well say he was sorry. He knew as well as she did sorry did not fix a dagger to the back.

"I do not understand you." She sheathed her dagger.

"What."

"You were so quick to leave your clan, the people who raised you,so eager to turn away from those who relied on you. Those children in the tower looked up to you, you know. You were their example."

It was true, when she had returned to the practice range the children had regaled her with stories about Dylan, and another named Surana.

"Can I trust a man so quick to abandon them at my back. Dylan sincerely hoped she could see the abject scorn on his face in the moonlight.

"You yourself told me that sometimes the clan does not know what is best for the individual. The rules of the tower are imposed on us whether we like it or not. Considering I was kicked out for defending a friend who did not deserve it, and defending him even when I knew he didn't, my willingness to defend someone who does deserve such devotion should not be in question."

She was quiet for a moment, considering his words. "Why were you looking at the sky?" she asked, changing the subject. You spend your time staring at the sky each night. Even when you should be on watch.

"Do the Dalish not have constellations?"

"What?"

"Pictures in the stars that tell stories."

"No" she looked at him curiously as he launched into explanation. She still did not know what to make of Dylan the Mage. The man who could save lives with one hand and turn his back on everything he'd ever known with a smile on his face with the other. She still did not know what to make of him when the stone gates of their destination, a human fortress called Ostagar, appeared in the valley below.

Would he make a good warden?

Only time would tell.

_Prelude End_


	5. Interlude: Thirty Peices

_Author's note: Welcome to the interlude. I haven't had a chance to get started on the first part of chapter one yet, I have been writing the last chapter of another fanfic I have been writing for years now. So I thought I would drop you this tidbit while you wait. It is still a bit rough, but I have run out of ways to improve it on my own. Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome and will be put to good use._

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Interlude- Thirty pieces of silver

Irving sat quietly at his desk. He pen was in his hand, but he did not use it, rather he stared blankly off into space. In his mind, he was reevaluating how he had done with his students. Three students in particular; Dylan, Jowan and Surana. If he had not felt guilty about Surana before, Dylan's choice -it could only be described as a defection- would have made him examine his actions again. He did not understand her failure at the harrowing. She had always been a strong mage and incredibly smart. She outpaced students even three or four years her senior, but it had not made her stuck up. On the contrary, she was a very modest girl. In short, she had been the perfect child and Irving had loved her dearly. He tapped his pen on the desk lightly. That was one of the problems of the Tower, he supposed. In addition to teaching powerful enchanters, they were in effect raising children as well. It had been many, many years now, but Irving could still remember his own family's farmhold and the night he was ripped away from them and placed in front of First Enchanter Simon. He could not remember his mother's face, but he remembered the stern First Enchanter that had come before him in almost every aspect of his life. Maker! Now there was a man who had been in the Chantry's pocket. Irving knew many of the students disliked and mistrusted the tests that he would spring on them, but Simon had been far worse to the children of the tower. When he had been promoted, and Simon had been forced by politics to choose him, he had promised himself he would be kinder. He would try to correct flaws, not hammer at students until they broke, and until Surana, he had felt for the most part he had done well. She had always been willing to learn and happy to teach, pliable, biddable. He should have caught it sooner. That unquestioning sympathy and compassion he had taught her was most likely used against her. It killed her. Irving couldn't help but feel responsible.

"Irving."

Greagoir pulled him out of this thoughts, he looked up at the Knight-Commander.

"The templars are finished scowering the north shore. It seems he's has help. Looks like he traveled by cart on the road to Redcliffe." Greagoir scowled at him. "You should have just let me proceed. As it was it was very clear that he was learning..."

"learning principles is not the same as learning with the intent to use, Greagoir. Even I know the principles." Irving rubbed his temples as Greagoir nostril flared.

It was kind of ironic actually that Greagoir reminded him of Dylan. If the world had been a different place, it would have been easy to mistake the two for father and son. Both were stubborn in the extreme, and set in their beliefs. Dylan had been a hard child to raise. He was forever questioning. Normally a great boon in a scholars life, Dylan's questions spilled over into questioning his betters, his elders and well, everybody. As a child, he had angered a templar almost to the point of being run through. Always asking about why templars could do magic; wanting to know why didn't that make them as bad as mages. Someone else had taught the seven year old the words "bloody hypocrites" but how was the templar supposed to know that? Dylan's major offense had not been that he had been needling the templar; it was that when the templar swatted at him with his sword, Dylan had fought back. Getting an electric shock through a suit of armor was painful, and if it had not been for Dylan's age and relative lack of strength, the man could have died. He had been all apologies, but the boy had not been sorry. Although that was one of the more colorful exploits of his youth, the defiance and stubbornness never waned. It had never even crossed his mind that Dylan didn't want to get out of the tower. He had actually planned to send him out it to the world with Wynne and a few other mages to investigate rumblings of plague in the north after they returned from Ostagar. The Primal school had always been Dylan's great joy in magic. It worried Irving. He had encouraged the boy's natural talent in medicine and healing, but he had not enjoyed it as Surana had. Surana had tempered Dylan and he suspected that Surana's wicked sense of humor was a gift from Dylan. She had been his tether. Patient enough when Surana was alive, after her death he had lost perspective. He was kind, charming and quick to offer a hand, all endearing traits that contributed to his popularity. But very few people in the tower actually knew Dylan Amell. Two of the three people he revealed himself to; Irving liked to think that Dylan had allowed him to see who he was rather than figuring it out when observing him, were gone from the tower permanently. It was a great loss of talent for the mages. Even if the choice was given, he knew Dylan would not return. The accusations in his eyes still haunted Irving. They said so clearly "This is your fault". He wondered exactly how much he knew about the plan to catch out Jowan.

"Irving? Are you even listening to me?"

Irving returned to reality with a snap.

"I said, there was too much of a ruckus to use our decoy again. We are going to have to find somebody else. You are knowledgeable on the students likes and dislikes, Irving. Who should we send for this time?"

"Just bring the girl in."

Jowan's little chantry mouse, no longer dressed in chantry robes, walked through the door meekly.

That was certainly a change. When she first agreed to lure confessions of blood magic out of students, she had sauntered in and explained what she was going to do, how she was going to do it and how much she expected for it, all before introducing herself.

"We no longer require your services, my dear, or those of your guild. Please send mistress Kadae my regards."

"Just as well," her voice sounded rougher, the affectation of a privileged chantry upbringing dropped entirely, "I no longer wish to be here."

He dropped the bag of silver on the table, 30 pieces in all. She reached for the bag, tested the money and counted it twice before nodding.

"What do you mean, we don't need the help of the order anymore? We never would have caught him out if Lily- My apologies- Lilium had not batted her eyelashes into Jowan's good graces!"

"There was too much of a spectacle, the mages will be wary now when starting relationships with strangers. Besides," he waved his hand for Lilium to go and watched as she gripped the bag with white knuckles.

"We went too far this time. Too many people have been hurt by this endeavor. We want to catch mages learning blood magic to use for foul purposes, not to protect a girl they think is in love with them. Nor do we want to alienate good mages in the process. Dylan was one of my best students."

"Blood magic should not be learned at all!"

"And we should not drive them to it. Go back to collecting your evidence the old fashion way, our getting creative has had adverse effects. Talk to Uldred when he gets back from Ostagar, he seems to have an uncanny ability for sniffing out wrongdoing."

Greagoir spluttered a bit more before leaving.

The girl had been remorseful, he noticed. Could she have actually fallen in love with Jowan? The worst of his students, it often took hard work from Jowan to get easy spells right. The only school in which he had really excelled was Entropy, which not many students took time to master beyond the basics. Perhaps that should have been the warning sign. Truthfully, the man was never powerful enough to attract much of Irving's attention, but his tight friendship with Surana and Dylan was. Why they preferred him to the more skilled and social of the tower's occupants was as mysterious as the man himself. He worked hard but not too hard, was always just at where he was expected to be. One of the reasons that Irving had put off Jowan's harrowing was because he had no idea what to do with him once he was harrowed. Where does one put a person so out of place? Perhaps that was why he was attracted to Lilium in the first place. For all her acting ability, she had always been slightly out of place in the chantry. Maybe she had been out of place in her own guild, who knew? The plan had never been to facilitate an escape, merely gather enough information to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was learning blood magic, maybe find out who his cohorts were. Jowan's words to Lilium had stuck in his brain, "I only learned to protect us."

He had meant to find the cause, not be the cause. Abruptly he stood from his desk, he needed to get out. Taking his time he wandered to the roof, part of him expecting to find Dylan there. It was empty, but for a few startled birds. The wind stung at his face. It was approaching dusk, the first twinkle of the night stars winked out at him from beneath pink clouds. Below him stretched the ground where Jowan was running from the Templars, Dylan was walking toward his future, and Surana was six feet underneath.

"May the Maker have mercy on you all."

He let the wind carry the phrase into the world.


	6. Part 1: Chapter 1: Into the Wilds

_Author's Note: It's been awhile, but I am pleased to give you the first chapter of Part 1_._ I did my best with proofreading and editing, but I am going to need a beta reader soon. If you are interested, please message me. Enjoy Chapter 1! Reviews (especially the creative criticism) are loved and appreciated. A big thank you to those of you who have taken the time to review so far (especially you, almostinsane) it really does help.  
_

_~Scarlet  
_

Part 1: Ostagar

Chapter One: Into the Wilds

The first thing that alerted Ishafel to their arrival at their destination was the smell. Her nose twitched in protest as the clean pine and earth scent of the forest gave way to the smoke and the sweat of a human encampment. Usually, those smells meant run away, not walk in the open for all to see. Yet that's what they were doing. There was a small group of humans crossing the massive stone bridge coming from the encampment. If they stayed on course (and they would, for there really was nowhere else to go on the bridge) they would all meet at an archway at the bridge's mouth. She tried to take her mind off the unpleasant feeling of being around so many humans by looking at the architecture. Ostagar, as she was called, was amazing. No elven ruin she had ever explored held a candle to her. According to Duncan, the Avvars had built her and the Tvinter had taken her over in her glory days. War had crashed on her surface before. She stood for longer than both her makers and her conquers. She was a strong place that would keep them safe from darkspawn, Ishafel. The humans grew ever closer. Ishafel quietly squirmed in her own armor. Then there was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing.

She looked up into Dylan's face. He gave her a small smile. She did not smile back, but the fact that he seemed to understand her discomfort was reassuring. Maybe there was more to him than she thought. She let out the breath that she had been holding slowly and squared her shoulders. She gave him a barely discernible nod of gratitude before breaking his hold and heading forward meet the welcome party.

Dylan could empathize with Ishafel's apparent unease. The looming form of Ostagar wasn't exactly welcoming. It reminded Dylan too much of it's sister, Aconar, the mage's prison; the place he would be well on the way to if Duncan had not conscripted him. Tower mages were here as well, mostly senior enchanters. He wasn't looking forward to having to explain himself, especially to Wynne. He shuddered at the thought of that conversation, deciding instead to focus on the people at hand. Walking under the archway at the foot of the bridge, they were met by a man that Dylan found familiar, but couldn't place.

"Ho there, Duncan!"

He was dressed in gold washed plate, which probably meant something. Dylan's suspicions were confirmed when Duncan addressed the man. He sounded surprised, something that he was absolutely certain did not happen often.

"Your majesty, I did not expect-"

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to worry you'd miss all the fun!"

"Not if I could help it, your Majesty." The corners of Duncan's mouth had turned down.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" The king said gleefully.

This was King Cailan? He was younger looking than Dylan expected, with the honest, almost simple face that was the mark of people who never had to work a day in their lives. Ishafel stared at him with frank curiosity. So this was what a king looked like? She had heard of these rulers of large amounts of land and people from Duncan, who had attempted to educate her about the world she was entering. She thought it was hardly practical. How could this one man know and meet the needs of those who live so far away from him? Clan governance seemed far more efficient.

The king seemed to notice their assessments because he looked at the two of them with a warm smile.

"The other wardens told me you found some promising recruits, I take it these are they?"

Duncan gave both of them a very stern look that said 'behave' so clearly it was almost as if he had spoke.

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

Cailan waved him off dismissively. "No need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together after all." He shouldered past him to stand in front of Ishafel and Dylan. "Ho there, friends! Might I know your names?

"I am Dylan, your majesty, formally of the Circle of the Magi"

"A mage! I hope your spells will be of great help to us in the up coming battle."

Dylan nodded, deciding not to mention the fact he was newly harrowed and had been practically kicked out of the tower. He didn't think it was a good idea to attract notice so soon after the incident.

"I hope so as well, your majesty." he said blandly, hoping that the innocence in his tone did not seem too fake.

Cailan looked at Ishafel expectantly and she blinked back at him, keeping her face blank. Over the king's shoulder, Duncan was shooting her warning glares.

"Mahariel"

"Mahariel? That's a clan name isn't it? The 'riel' gives it away."

Dylan almost snorted in laughter at the expression on Ishafel's face. Clearly, she didn't expect the king to be educated in the ways of her people.

"You know of the Dalish, King Cailan?" the surprise was in her voice too, and Cailan grinned wistfully at her.

"Not as much as I would like. You're people aren't exactly fond of mine. For good reason. Tell me is it common to be referred to by your clan name?"

"When outside of the clan, yes. It is how we identity who is from where."

"May I ask what your clan calls you?"

"The name that was given to me is Ishafel, your majesty. Although the Dalish hardly every refer to each other by their given names, unless they are close friends or clan."

"Ah," Cailan commented, absorbing the information.

"Well, Ishafel, Dylan, I'll tell you this. You are both very welcome here. The wardens will benefit greatly with you among them."

A guard behind Cailan cleared his throat. The king rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent, Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies."

Duncan nodded approvingly. "Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be there in less than a week. The Cousland forces have already been dispatched.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters, tomorrow will be no different." Cailan said dismissively

"You sound very confident of that." Dylan mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Cailan laughed. "Over confident some would say. Right, Duncan?"

Ishafel wasn't sure but she thought he saw a flash of disapproval on Duncan's face.

"Your Majesty, I'm not certain the blight can be ended quite as...quickly as you wish." Duncan said, there was a firmness in his voice that bordered on admonishment. Cailan seemed not to notice.

"I'm not even sure this is a true blight. There are plenty of darkspawn, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

The whine in his voice gave away his regret. Ishafel could not imagine why. A shudder ran throughout her as she remembered the creature wrapped in dark. She glanced up at Dylan, who wore a similar expression.

"Disappointed, your majesty?"

Now Ishafel was sure Duncan was annoyed. The disapproval on his face was carefully guarded, but after being with him for a week, she could tell that the tension in his jaw was not normal.

Cailan seemed to be unaware of the grim shift in the attitude of the party, his face took on a boyish expression.

"I had hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled gray wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do."

"You've never seen war before, have you, your majesty?"

Ishafel's question hit Cailan like a bolt. He almost stepped back

"My father brought peace to Ferelden many years ago, I'm sure the Dalish have benefited from the quiet as we have?"

They hadn't actually. With the shemlen no longer fighting each other, they more easily organized against the Dalish but that was beside the point.

"Do not wish something you cannot predict on your people. For each epic tale, a trail of bodies lies behind."

Cailan looked almost as annoyed as Duncan at her assessment.

"I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!"

With that the king turned into the camp.

Duncan's eyes rested on Ishafel. "Thank you for trying to give him perspective. It is something I have tried many times and failed to do." He turned so that he was addressing both of them. "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here.

Dylan rubbed at his beard again, "Yet you don't sound reassured."

"There is an archdemon behind this. I have long suspected it and Ishafel's visions have proven it to be true, but I can not ask the king to act on these thing alone."

"Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens quite highly. Highly enough to what you ask without hard proof." Ishafel was unsure of the last statement, and Duncan just shook his head.

"Not enough to wait for reinforcements from the wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable."

"Are shem kings usually like this? Foolish and ignorant?" Ishafel asked, her curiosity was genuine, almost causing Dylan to snort yet again.

"I wouldn't sell him out for stupid just yet, just because he plays a fool, does not mean he is one."

"We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end we much proceed with the joining ritual without delay."

Ishafel let out a long shuddering sigh, her body sagging under the sound of escaping breath. Almost instantly Dylan surrounded her with healing magic. The release of breath, he had found on the remainder of their journey from the tower, was a sign of more detrimental things to come. Ishafel for one was grateful for his vigilance.

"What ritual? What do you mean? I really don't think Ishafel-"

Duncan raised a hand to silence him and looked at Ishafel apologetically.

"The joining is what will cure you of the suffering your tainted blood surely brings you. If it had been possible, I would have done so before now. I am sorry, you will have to go on a little longer."

She nodded wearily, her face tinged gray. Dylan pulled a skein from his belt.

"Drink."

Ishafel gave him a look.

"You know," he muttered, "It is absolutely amazing that here you are, potentially dying for the darkspawn taint, and yet you hesitate to drink medicine to help you because it tastes bad."

She ignored him and wrinkling her nose took a long drink from the skien. She winced at the bitterness of the drink, but the color returned to her face.

"Why is this ritual so secret, Duncan?" She asked while attempting to rid her mouth of excess poultice.

Dylan shared her curiosity. If it could cure darkspawn taint, it must involve some kind of purifying magic. He was torn between being apprehensive and being excited. That was a kind of magic you didn't see everyday, he wondered if it was something he could learn. He was so caught up in future plans he almost missed Duncan telling them about the two other recruits and the fact that they were free to roam the camp for awhile if they wished, just to find the grey warden Alistair when they were ready to continue. With that Duncan made for the other side of the camp, Ishafel on his heels. Dylan stood in the archway for a moment. The north wind picked up, blowing a stiff cold wind into his face. Even from across the bridge he could see the telltale spray of enchanting. Irving would have gotten a message through now, and if he hadn't, it would still be awkward. Wynne was going to flay him alive; and she was going to do it with niceness.

He returned to himself as he felt eyes on him. Staring at him from across the bridge, her head cocked as though asking a question, stood Ishafel. He looked back at her for a minute, not understanding. She frowned at him, he could see her small foot tapping on the stone. She was waiting for him, he realized. He couldn't help but smile at her impatience. Well, he thought, summoning a nerve he hadn't knew he'd lost, far be it from him to keep a lady waiting. Besides, what could the other mages do to him, really? Pointedly not thinking of the answer to that question he hurried across the bridge to meet her.

Rosings had been a wonder, but the camp was absolutely amazing. She had never seen so many battle ready warriors in her life. The hunters at the meeting of the clans didn't not count. She would have asked Dylan the meaning of a hundred different things if it wasn't clear that he felt as out of place as she did. Together they wandered the camp, until they reached the enchanters' compound.

"Dylan."

The low, familiar, female voice almost took him by surprise, dread crept up his spine.

"Wynne."

She leaned against a tree in front of the tent as though she were expecting him. Wynne had been the first to teach him healing arts. He once heard her tell Irving when she thought he wasn't in earshot that she had never seen anyone try so hard _not_ to develop a talent. As a result he was a recipient of her constant badgering and, even worse, attempts at mothering. He already had a mother. He had been taken from her at seven. He didn't need another. But that had never stopped her from trying, even when Irving took him as an apprentice. On the contrary, the long standing friendship between Wynne and Irving seemed to make it easier for her to corner him ad give him long winded lectures about deporting himself. He steeled himself for the inevitable as she spoke.

"I heard what happened at the circle. Jowan branded a malificar, and you an outcast."

Wynne's face was tense and her eyes spoke volumes of regret that Dylan was very close at rolling his own eyes at. She must have seen something in his face, because her features suddenly darkened.

"The Grey wardens will be good for you, I think. You always had too much fire for circle walls. Make sure you practice your healing magic, you won't have anyone but yourself to rely on for that anymore."

She shrugged her old shoulders. "The Maker works in mysterious ways."

It was at this point that Ishafel chose to interrupt. She and Wynne started a conversation about the maker and the fade the Dylan had heard about a hundred times over. Seeing that Wynne's attention was not on himself, he slipped away. Wynne would keep Ishafel safe if not occupied, there was too much of the mother in her not to. Slipping away from the main camp, he walked along the ramparts, listening in to lectures on darkspawn and the conversations of elves who were cheating the quartermaster. This was almost peaceful. It was hard to believe that this camp had been through three battles already. He sat down next to the edge and cracked open his book on battle-magic, intending to study until Ishafel found him. The high pitched shrieking of someone nearby made this very hard. After five minutes of it, Dylan decided to go give them a piece of his mind.

Wynne's semi lecture on the fade had been informative, even if it had been very boring. Ishafel turned to ask Dylan something to find that he was not there. Wynne too seemed to have not noticed his escape and looked sourly at the spot where he stood.

"He was an expert at _that _at the tower too." she muttered, "If he had spent the time he used escaping on his healing magic, he'd be the strongest healer in all of Thedas! Well, off with you then," She shooed Ishafel away "best you find him and prevent him from getting into even more trouble."

Find him? Where could he have possibly gone in the first place?

She walked forward, uncertain, when a voice called out to her.

"Excuse me, Miss? Might you be a Dalish?"

She turned sharply and sized up the man at her right. He must have felt the sharpness in her stare because he held up his hands to show he meant no harm.

"I'm the kennel master here." identifying himself, " I was wondering if you could help me? One of the dogs has darkspawn blood poisoning. His owner died during the last battle, and he won't let me treat him. I would hate to waste such a promising member of the breed. Would you mind putting this muzzle on him?"

Ishafel leaned over the kennel fence. She had heard of these dogs, Mabari, if she remembered correctly. As smart as the Shemlen (although that really wasn't so hard) they were fierce war hounds, able to execute complicated maneuvers in battle. The clan had once been chased out of a forest by warriors with a pack of mabari. The dogs had manged to lay traps for them and two hunters died. The creature lay sprawled out on the dirt, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Clearly, he was in pain. He was large and well muscled with a nasty slash running from shoulder to belly. He was covered in muck, she couldn't even make out what color his fur was. He didn't look promising to her.

"Why do you want _me_ to do this?"

The kennel master looked sheepish.

"Well, miss, I- everyone has heard the tales, you Dalish are supposed to have a way with animals. Besides, these creatures have respect for warriors. You being Dalish and a warrior, I thought maybe you'd have a better chance, you see." She looked at the dog in the pen. The kennel master was right. He was a warrior. He deserved better than this.

"Give me the muzzle."

He hastily unlocked the gate and the dog struggled to his feet as Ishafel entered. He snarled as she stepped toward him.

"I am here to do you no harm, friend." she said soothingly. Closer now, she could hear the pants of the creature, and smell the bile on his breath.

"We two are the same," she continued, "poisoned. But you do not have to be this way. Let us help you."

He snarled again, but did not fight her as she slipped the muzzle over his snout. He rested his exhausted head in her hand as she fought with the catch. When finished, she whispered to him that he would feel better soon, and she could see the comprehension and respect in his eyes as clearly as if he were human or elven.

"Brilliant, I'll start the treatment right away! Are you going into the Wilds anytime soon?

"I might be." she said, thinking of the joining ritual. If it was secret, it probably took place away from camp.

"There is a flower that could speed his healing, White with a blood red center, if you come across any bring them here."

"How essential is it?"

"He might not make it without it."

Her eyes swept over the mabari again. "I'll find it."

There was a loud crash and some shouting. One voice in particular caught her attention. Dylan's. Quickly she headed towards the source of the argument.

A disgusted female solider stood to one side grinning in triumph as Dylan spoke a trifle more calmly to a man who was being held about four inches off the ground and frozen stiff by magic.

She fought the urge to cuff him on the side of the head as she marched over.

"Dylan, surely this is not the place for this."

"You didn't have to listen to their bickering for the last twenty minutes." he turned his head to the man

"When a lady says she wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man in Ferelden four times, she actually means it."

She raised an eyebrow at the man.

"Dylan let him go, before somebody notices. We have more important things to do."

Begrudgingly, he let the spell go. The man tumbled to the ground, but managed to land on all fours, like a cat. It would have been graceful, except the female soldier that he had been arguing with planted a boot on his rear and shoved with all her might. He went tumbling to the ground.

"Thank you, Ser Mage." She kissed Dylan on the cheek before disappearing into the camp. A noise erupted from the ground and it took both of them a moment to realize it was laughter.

"That couldn't have gone better for you if we'd planned it, eh?" the man said rising and companionably slinging his arm across Dylan's shoulder. " Next time we pull something like that, you be the one to get the boot."

"Wha- No! I wasn't after the lad-"

He ignored Dylan and took a step back to survey them.

"Well, you're not what I expected."

"You were expecting something?" Ishafel remarked dryly.

"Well, you are the last of Duncan's recruits aren't you? We've been waiting for ya. I was beginning to think they cooked up this joining just for our benefit."

"I hope not." Ishafel offered her hand, "I'm Ishafel Mahariel. This is Dylan Amell."

The man shook her hand heartily. "Daveth's the name. What can we do? it's not like we have a choice is it?"

"They're forcing you to be here?"

"I got nowhere else to go after what Duncan saved me from." Daveth's easy smile stayed in place but there was something, possibly regret, on his face. "Anyway, I expect it's time to get back to Duncan. That's where I'll be, if you need me for anything."

She watched him go, "Do you think all Duncan's recruits are like that?"

"Like what?" Dylan said irritably, Daveth had rubbed him the wrong way.

"No choice, or the other option is so terrible that it feels like there isn't one."

"It makes sense, in the long run. If you have nothing to go back to, there is no reason to desert, is there?

I did some reading the night we left the tower, snatched up one of the books on the grey wardens. They've recruited quite a few tower mages. Cold bunch, devoted to their cause usually and nothing more."

The shiver went down her spine unintentionally. Dylan frowned

"Are you ill? Normally the treatment last for at least..." She waved him off.

"If you are so concerned then you should not have abandoned me to your former teacher. She gave _me_ an earful because _you_ pulled a disappearing act, shemlen."

"Don't call me that!" He bristled at the insult.

She gave him an odd half smile. "Do you know what shem means?" she asked. There was mirth in her eyes and it confused him.

"It's an elven slur for human, meant to be insulting."

He had a sudden flashback of Surana, hands on her hips, looking over the vials that he had destroyed.

"Shemlen" she clucked at him. He had been insulted and she had laughed too.

"It never fails to surprise me how humans are so easily offended. It means quick. Quick to act, quick to judge, in your case quick to run. Only children should be shemlen, only children who don't know any better would be so reckless as to not think before acting."

"She never says anything worth listening to," he muttered as she began to walk toward the back ramparts.

"How do you know? You won't listen. The mark of a man is his ability to think and consider, move too quickly and you are nothing but a child." She switched topics seamlessly, which was fine by Dylan not only because he was tired of what very much sounded like scolding, but it was worse because he was actually feeling a little chastised. "Let's find this Alistair. I would like to be cured by the evening."

A few moments later, after chatting up the guard he had 'rescued' from Daveth, they head to the back of the ramparts. In what looked to be the remnants of a tower stood a mage and a solider. Dylan gave the mage the once over. Senior Enchanter Nathan, yuck. He was one of the many senior enchanters whose departure had merited a silent cheer from his apprentices, and it looked like the man was being his usual, charming self.

"What is it now? Haven't the grey wardens asked more than enough of the circle?"

The warden, this must be Alistair, was having none of it. A position that Dylan could heartily support.

"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.

"What her reverence desires is no concern to me. I am busy helping the Grey Wardens – by the kings command I might add!"

"Should I have asked her to write a note?"

"Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner! "

"Yes, I was harassing you by delivering a message.

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"Here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you... The grumpy one"

Whatever restraint Alistair had seemed to disappear when Nathan took that snide tone that always dispatched his apprentice so well. Dylan almost grinned with glee. There was a barely restrained chuckle to Dylan's left, although when he looked Ishafel had managed to school her face back into indifference.

"Enough," Nathan snapped, glaring at the two spectators out of the corner of his eye. Apparently he didn't appreciate a good audience. I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way, fool!"

Alistair turned to them with a smirk.

"You know, one good thing about the blight is how it brings people together."

Dylan finally gave up containing his mirth and laughed. Ishafel gave Alistair the same half smile she had while yelling at Dylan earlier.

"You are a very strange human." she said, there was a kind of music to her voice that could have been a strangled laugh. Alistair smiled back at her. "You're not the first to tell me that."

"Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be mages?"

Dylan stiffened at his tone. "Would that make your day worse?"

He just smiled again. "Hardly, I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment."

"Don't worry too much, that's a really hard spell to master."

"So you _are_ a mage, then?" he nodded at Dylan, "But not you?" He studied her face for a moment.

"Wait, I do know who you are, you're Duncan's new recruits, the Mage and the Dalish. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize.

"How could you have recognized us?" Ishafel asked.

"Duncan sent word. He spoke quite highly of you both. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Alistair, although I guess you already knew that." He said sheepishly. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for your joining.

"Dylan Amell." he grinned, offering a hand which he shook. "The short one is Ishafel Mahariel"

Indignation bloomed on Ishafel's face so quickly that Dylan was fairly certain he had just shortened his life. Maybe there was something to this thinking before acting Ishafel was so keen on. Alistair seemed not to notice, and just laughed at the joke.

"You know...it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

"Probably because we are too smart for you." She snapped, nettled by the unintended insult.

He raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. "True, but if your here what does that make you?"

"Incredibly unlucky." She crossed her arms and glared.

"Ouch" Alistair winced at the verbal backhand.

"What was that argument we saw about? I've never seen Nathan so purple!"

"The mage? The circle is here at the request and the chantry doesn't like that one bit. They just love letting the mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a bit of awkward position. I was once a templar."

Dylan went silent, but Ishafel picked up on his discomfort. "You were a mage killer?" She asked.

"That is what I was being trained as six months ago. I'm sure the reverend mother meant it as an insult- sending me as her messenger—and the mage picked right up on it. I never would have agreed to it, but Duncan says we're all to cooperate and get along. Apparently, they didn't get the same speech."

They walked out of the ramparts and to the bonfire where the warden's made their camp. The sun was hanging low in the sky and Ishafel was beginning to worry that they would not do the ritual tonight. Duncan must have thought so as well, because he kept the conversation mercifully brief. They were to hunt for darkspawn blood, four vials worth and retrieve some treaties that in her opinion ought not to have been left in the wilds in the first place. The party would be made up of herself, Alistair, Dylan, Daveth and one more recruit named Jory. She was not fond of the burly knight who informed her while they were leaving camp that he did not know that Dalish, or women, were allowed in to the wardens. Then he talked so much about his wife that Daveth had to tell him, in no uncertain terms to be quiet. It was clear the man had never had any real battle experience. He would have known to be silent, or to at least keep his creator given voice down. As it was the were almost immediately attacked by a group of starving wolves, she could feel the ribcage of the creature as she sliced her knife into the flesh underneath it's belly. She took the time to thank the creatures for their sacrifice and to skin them so their death would not be in vain. Wolf pelts would sell well, Jory informed her. Then she really couldn't stand him. She took solace in the fact that she was not the only one. Dylan and Alistair both took pains to bombard him with verbal barbs. The fact that the man did not seem to understand them made it that much funnier to Dylan. Although Alistair was attempting to act like some sort of authority figure, he was doing a bad job of it. Ishafel kept to the rear of the group with, surprisingly, Daveth. He was less of a shemlen than she first took him for. He spoke to her in small short bursts that were a bittersweet reminder of Tamlen. Currently, he was telling her about how he cut Duncan's purse in a Denerim market.

"Was it hard?"

"What? Getting away from Duncan?" He asked, his head was turned away from her, scanning for potential threats, like a good hunter.

"No, the cutting of the purse" the phrase was foreign in her mouth. Daveth laughed.

"Not at all, but I've been doing it since I was small, I have. "Why?" his eyes sparkled with mischief "You want to learn?"

Ishafel had tried stealing from shem before. Nothing extreme, just food, usually in winter, if there was a shortage of supplies. It almost never went well, and she had stopped being a part of the raiding party altogether. It was a skill that at the very least she could use improvement upon, although she didn't know if she would ever have chance to use it in that capacity again.

"What's the matter, love?" Daveth was looking at her with an almost cat ate the canary grin. "Afraid of being sneaky?"

She didn't get a chance to answer, they turned the corner and came upon a slaughter. Pints of blood, both black and red painted the ground underneath their feat.

"Maker," Daveth whistled under his breath. Every body the eye could see was mutilated in some way even the beast shouldering the carts had there throats slit, hooves removed. It was a truly gruesome sight.

"We've got a live one here." Dylan signaled

"Please," he looked up at Dylan, clutching the hem of his robes, "Help me !"

Alistair knelt down beside him, "I've got bandages in my pack."

Between Dylan and Alistair, the man was patched up in no time. He staggered to his feet.

"The Darkspawn... they came from nowhere... right out of the ground... I have to get back..."

"Easy, easy." Dylan held him in place for a moment. "We really should take him back ourselves. The game in this area is scarce. He could be attacked by wolves or worse." She ignored him as he struggled in her grip.

Ishafel eyed the sun. It was creating ripples of red and gold on the horizon "There isn't enough time, if we head back now, we will have to wait til tomorrow morning to get the blood. I wouldn't want to hunt darkspawn in the dark."

"Maker," Alistair shuddered, "No arguments there." He looked uneasily at the man, hesitating.

Ishafel pointedly walked further into the wilds. When she saw no one had followed, she looked over her shoulder.

"That pack of wolves we dispatched earlier probably controlled the territory in this area, and the darkspawn have already left. His way to the camp will be clear. Every moment you detain him makes the possibility of something attacking him higher, I suggest you let him go."

Reluctantly, Dylan released him and the man scrambled back the way they came.

"Did you here that? A whole patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn! This is how you train new recruits? It is too dangerous!"

Ishafel still led the group, Dylan flanked her left side and Daveth had come to walk on her right. She didn't even turn to look at him.

"Overcoming these dangers is part of our test. If we work together we should be fine."

Alistair concurred. "Know this, all Grey Warden can sense the darkspawn. We will know before there is an at-" he stopped mid sentence, and drew his sword. "Just beyond the ridge"

They saw the bodies before they saw the darkspawn. Three corpses, faces bloated, hung from the side of a fallen oak like midwinter decorations.

"Darkspawn!" someone shouted and Dylan was plunged into his first battle.

Only Alistair and Ishafel seem not to be caught off guard by the appearance of the creatures. On the contrary, Ishafel threw herself into the oncoming monsters with a scream. The wicked curved blades she carried slashed into twisted flesh with brutal efficiency.

All Dylan could do was stare, trying in vain to remember the mechanics of battle magic in his book.

"Ser mage!" Dylan spun towards Daveth only to see a genlock drop not two steps from his feet, clawing helplessly at the arrow through his throat. "Watch yourself!"

A yelp of alarm caused him to spin again; a blade was pressed a Jory's throat, Ishafel was shouting something illegible. He muttered under his breath and a small panicked snap went off in his brian.

The hurlock on top of Jory was suddenly on fire. Stumbling back to put itself out, instead Jory's Greatsword rammed through his torso and he fell down dead. Ishafel found the hurlock she was fighting suddenly an icy statue. With a triumphant cry, she gave it a mighty kick. It shattered when it hit the ground. The battle ended triumphantly for the future wardens as Alistair decapitated the last attacker.

"Is that it then?" Dylan asked in a small voice.

"I would say so." Alistair commented, giving the vials to Daveth and Jory for blood collection.

"Oh, good." Dylan took the opportunity to be violently sick. He looked up to find the group looking at him and was immediately embarrassed. His stomach rolled again. Fighting down a moan, he excused himself to some nearby bushes. He wretched until there wasn't a ghost of breakfast in his belly. He continued to wretch even after there was nothing more to give, dry heaving with both hands planted in the dust. There was a cool touch at his back, and soothing words in a language he did not understand. he lifted his head to see Ishafel beside him.

"That was your first battle." It wasn't a question, and he felt too spent to respond. He waited for the chastisement that was to come, the accusation that he was lesser than the others for reacting so badly.

To his surprise, none came.

"You did well for someone not trained to fight, we can work on your technique later." He took a deep breath, the spasms had stopped. "After my first fight I was shaking so badly for so long the keeper thought I'd caught cold." he glanced at her questioningly. "We all deal with the stress in different ways." She gave him a hand and helped him up from the dirt. Together they walked the little ways back to the group. Daveth ran up to greet them

"We only managed about two vials full. Alistair says there are more darkspawn further in and we still got those treaties to retrieve besides."

Daveth gave Dylan the once over.

"Alright there, ser mage? You're tinged green around the gills still."

Dylan gave a shaky nod, he would have to drink some of the poultice he had brewed for Ishafel but he was returning to normal. Daveth clapped him on the back.

"Good on you! It could have been worse you know."

"How so?"

"Well, it could have come out the other end."

Ishafel blinked at sudden storm of laughter Daveth had managed to pull out of Dylan.

"Come on, we have more darkspawn to kill."


	7. Part 1: Chapter 2: Where the Wilds

_Author Notes: Not much to say this time around. Hope you enjoy chapter 2! A big thanks to almostinsane for beta-ing this chapter! Reviews and criticism are welcome._

_~Scarlet  
_

* * *

Part 1: Ostagar

Chapter 2: Where the Wilds Flowers Grow

There was no shortage of darkspawn after the initial encounter. Dylan still felt a little sick upon hearing metal on flesh, but the urge to heave was gone. He was beginning to keep his head in battle, actually casting spells rather than just causing random convenient events like a child. It helped that, except for a few hills at the beginning of the wilds, the land was mercifully flat. They had yet to be ambushed from the ground, although their was much speculation on such things.

"Do you think we'd hear a rumble, like an earthshaker?" Alistair asked, headed toward what look to be a ruin, the best place to start looking for the treaties.

"I mean you'd have to, right? They can't just appear; not even mages can do that." Dylan replied, eyes scanning the perimeter. He was keeping watch for Alistair. By now he had learned the importance of keeping an eye on his surroundings.

"Maybe they can," Jory whispered, sounding almost fearful, "Darkspawn are unnatural."

Ishafel was very sure that this was not a constructive conversation. She might have even said something about it had she not been concentrating very hard on Jory's purse, hanging peacefully from his belt.

"Now," Daveth said in her ear "You want to catch the purse in mid swing, so it falls away from his body and into your hand." There was a slight chuckle in his voice, and it occurred to Ishafel that Daveth must have enjoyed being a cutpurse before Duncan caught up to him. She had to admit there was a certain excitement to it. She had watched him cut Alistair's purse in demonstration, and the thrill of his almost getting caught was akin to coming upon shem in the woods unnoticed. As the purse swung back, she moved and gave a hurried slice. she cut through his belt in the first swing.

"What in Andraste's knickers?" Jory was suddenly fumbling with his pants. They had abruptly decided to pool around his knees under his mail. Dancing around in a vain attempt to fix them, he looked very much like a startled chicken. Daveth was trying very hard not to laugh, lest it attract darkspawn when Jory was indisposed, but little hisses and smirks of laughter broke through anyway. Ishafel was thoroughly confused. She was sure she had cut in the right place, retracing the cut in her mind. For all his flailing, Jory's purse stayed on his person, as secure now as it was before Ishafel had attempted to liberate it.

"What happened?"

Alistair and Dylan backtracked from their spot in the marsh several yards ahead just in time to see the embarrassed Jory preform his chicken dance. A bit of worn leather on the ground caught Dylan's eye. Stooping, he picked it up.

"Jory, is this your belt?"

"Yes!" he lunged for the strip and Dylan let him take it, pointing to the frayed end;

"It's been severed clean through. Won't be much use to you."

"Let me see it," Alistair directed, unshouldering his pack. "I've got a bit of twine here, I can probably patch it until we get back to camp."

"Bad luck, love," Daveth said, quietly chuckling as he worked. "You got the wrong belt. Can't say it wasn't entertaining though. If I had done something like that with Duncan, he would have never caught me!"

Ishafel was speechless about the whole situation, her mouth slightly open like a fish. She really was absolutely terrible when it came to thievery.

"Now, don't look like that, We'll work on it. You can try for Alistair's pants next time. Or better yet, you can try for the darkspawn's."

The impromptu image of all the darkspawn on the field suddenly losing their pants was enough to startle a burst of laughter from Ishafel, causing all the gentlemen present to stare at her, particularly Dylan. He looked from Ishafel to Daveth with eyes narrowed in mirth, suspecting their involvement in Jory's unfortunate situation.

"Finished" Alistair said, satisfied.

Jory scrambled to take his belt back and synched it around his waist.

"Very nice, Ser Alistair. You are a good a patch as my Helena."

"Oh, not that again" Daveth moaned as the party started forward. Jory talked about his wife and their approaching familial bliss for up to of 20 minutes until Dylan decided that he rather have the darkspawn attack again than listen to another word.

"Daveth" he said, cutting Jory off completely, "you said you knew tales of the wilds?"

"Grew up around these parts. you didn't go two steps without hearing about the Flemeth and the Witches of the Wilds"

"Witches of the Wilds?" Ishafel asked, curious.

"Nasty women who roam the wilds looking for men to seduce and children to eat, Flemeth is their mother." Daveth shook himself slightly. "Mum always used tell me if I wasn't good, she'd leave me outside for them after nightfall."

There was a cackle nearby. Ishafel turned, expecting company, and instead found a raven sitting on a nearby tree branch, almost at eye level with herself. She caught it's eye and it cackled again. Odd, for a bird of that size to be sitting so low to the ground. Walking towards it, Alistair's shout sounded behind her.

"Ishafel, darkspawn!"

Spinning on her heel, she threw herself into combat. By the time she thought to look again, the raven was gone.

The wilds seemed to get wetter the further in they went. The manic croaking of bullfrogs and constant buzzing of mosquito was doing a very good job of driving Dylan mad.

"The Chasind actually enjoy living here?" he muttered to himself while bitterly swatting at a mosquito. "I think I prefer the tower to this place!"

"Of course you do," a voice answered on his right, "The tower is your home."

Dylan sighed. He seriously hoped that he managed to meet someone who appreciated his wit before things were over, it was lost on Ishafel.

"That was meant to be an insult to this place."

"I don't understand."

"I didn't like living at the tower, Ishafel." after a moment he added "I damn well hated it."

Although Dylan couldn't see it, her nose wrinkled in confusion "Why?"

"I wasn't allowed to go outside until I was 15. You had to be given permission for those things and the Templars didn't like babysitting. The closest I got was the roof of the tower, and even that was supposed to be forbidden. I was just very good at breaking the spells that Irving put up. There was even a trigger that let the templars know when I was up there. I only ever got thirty minutes, tops.

"I still don't understand why would you want to be alone. I was never alone and it didn't bother me."

"What? Never?"

"Hunting groups were always made of twos and threes. If I wasn't hunting, I was with the clan. There was always something to mend or make. Being alone wouldn't have helped at all."

"But you could have been, if you wanted?" he pressed.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I could always go into my aravel and shut the flap, if that's what you mean."

"You see? I couldn't even do that."

"Of course not. You lived in a tower not an aravel."

Anyone else, Dylan thought, would have assumed that Ishafel was being sarcastic. After knowing her for three days, he knew she sincerely meant that and it was not a witty joke.

"The templars would guard our doors. We had a particularly zealous one when I was a younger named Floyd. Wouldn't even let me go to the latrine alone."

"Dylan! Watch out!"

The genlock appeared from nowhere at his elbow. He was fast but Ishafel was faster, ducking around Dylan to plunge her blade into the creature's mouth. Dylan gave a cry to alert the others before smacking an oncoming hurlock on the head with his staff. If he survived this merry little adventure through the swamp, someone was teaching him how to use a sword. A frost spell dispatched the hurlock and he concentrated his efforts in shocking the life out of genlock archer who had Ishafel pinned while a second genlock was attempting to stab her to death. An arrow through the eye, courtesy of Daveth took care of the archer. Running forward to help, Dylan was forced to scramble out of the way as Ishafel swung herself around the genlock's torso and slit his throat from behind. He wasn't quick enough, and managed to whack Ishafel in the back with his staff, sending her flying face down into a muddy swampy patch a few feet away.

"Maker! Ishafel! Are you alright?" Dylan sputtered. For a moment she lay flat in the mud, stunned. Slowly, she regained control of her limbs, pushing herself up. In front of her was a scraggly patch of flowers, white with a blood drop in the center.

"Perfect!" she said and righted herself so she could pick them. The kennel master would be pleased.

To Dylan, Daveth, Jory and Alistair it looked as if Ishafel had gone more than a little crazy. Covered in mud as she was, now she was kneeling ankle deep in marsh picking flowers.

"My mother did always tell me the Dalish were very in tune with nature." Daveth shrugged

"She's not possessed is she?" Jory asked Alistair quietly.

"Ishafel? I know those flowers may look nice, but really we have to get those treaties before dark falls."

Alistair said trying to sound jovial. In his experience, it was always best if you sounded calm to crazy people.

She stood up and tried to wipe some of the mud off with no success. She finally noticed the four men staring at her.

"They are medicinal herbs for the kennel master." She explained "One of the mabari is ill, and these will speed his recovery."

A collective, understanding 'Oh' arose from the group.

They continued onward until they had finally reached the ruin that Alistair had pointed out hours ago.

Darkspawn poured down from the mouth of the tower, but they seemed distracted and were quickly dispatched. Ishafel scooped up the last vial of darkspawn blood.

"What was wrong with them, I wonder?" She asked Dylan. He shrugged.

"Maybe they find the sight of you covered in mud terrifying?"

She gave him a sour look.

"There's the chest!" Alistair pointed to a wrecked looking box that had not been a chest in ages. Bending down, he began to sift through the remains.

"What do we have here?"

The foreign voice was like a jolt of electricity down Dylan's spine. Ishafel drew her blades upon hearing the first syllable.

Standing next to an ancient pillar was a young woman. She was dressed unlike any human Ishafel had ever seen, wearing a curious amalgamation of shem rags and bits of feather and earth.

"Are you intruders come to steal what is not yours from my wilds? Or are you scavengers, come to pick at bones that have long since been cleaned."

Nobody moved, nobody spoke. This seemed to annoy the woman, she trained her golden eyes on Dylan and his mouth went dry.

"What say you, hmm? Scavenger or Intruder?"

"Neither," he stumbled over the words "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

She dismissed his claims out of hand.

"'Tis a Tower no longer. The Wilds have long since claimed this desiccated corpse." She walked down the stone ramp on which her pillar stood, her eyes still locked with his. "I have watched your progress for some time. "Where do they go? I wondered, why are they here?'

"Don't answer her," Alistair jumped in before Dylan could speak. "She looks Chasind, and that means there maybe others nearby. "

The woman's golden eyes rolled and just like that, contact between them was broken. She shifted her gaze instead to Ishafel.

"You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Ishafel blinked placidly, not lowering her weapons.

"You can call me Ishafel."

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish." Her eyes turned to the shredded box then, "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?' You stole them didn't you? You're some kind of... sneaky...witch-thief!"

Alistair's face had gone an odd shade of purple red as he shouted. Ishafel took a deep breath, if he was so keen on being accusatory, maybe they could use it to their advantage. As it was, Dylan was glaring lightning bolts at him. Morrigan seemed nothing short of amused. Considering they might need her help to find the documents, perhaps that was a good thing.

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?" She asked mockingly, holding a finger to the side of her chin as though she was considering the question.

"Quite easily it seems," Alistair replied in a flat, rather serious tone "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not."

For a moment there was only the sounds of the wilds, and a small sputtering sound as Alistair geared up his response, then Morrigan laughed.

"'Twas not I who took them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish." She held her chin high, "I am not threatened."

Ishafel sheathed her daggers. This was getting them nowhere, and the twinkles on the horizon were heralding dusk.

"Then who removed them?" she asked impatiently.

"Twas my mother, in fact."

"Your mother?" Dylan parroted. Morrigan glanced at him with disapproval.

"Yes, my mother. Did you assume I spawned from a log?"

"A thieving weird talking log, perhaps." Alistair put forward and got a much more venomous look than Dylan.

"Not all in the wilds are monsters. Flowers grow, as well as toads."

To Ishafel she said, "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

"We should get those treaties, but I dislike this... Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient." Ishafel whispered to the party, keeping her voice low even though she was sure she would be heard anyway.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds. She'll lead us into a trap, and eat us for supper, she will!"

"What?" Dylan looked at Daveth as though he'd gone off the deep end. "Because she's a mage that lives in a swamp?"

"Don't be taken in!" He insisted.

Ishafel sighed. So much for Daveth being less of a shem than she thought. Well, there was only one way to settle _that_. She faced Morrigan. "I want an honest answer: Are you a Witch of the Wilds?"

"Have I been dishonest with you? You are the ones participating in suspicious whispering. Some call us witches, yes, but purely out of superstition."

Alistiar looked nonplussed. "You know what the Circle of Magi is don't you? The Circle requires an accounting of all mages. That is the law of the land and the chantry."

"Even if it is a grossly unfair law," Dylan grumbled.

Morrigan raised an amused eyebrow at the two of them. "If you want to tell your Chantry about me go ahead. I have nothing to fear from priests."

"Why are you interested in helping us," Dylan asked out of genuine curiosity. They were certainly not making it easy to help them and rather than wash her hands of it, she had stayed to face the barbed affronts.

She shrugged "Why not? I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

He didn't believe the reply with its feigned innocence for a second. He may have just left the tower, but he wasn't born yesterday. Still there was nothing for them if they stayed here.

"I say we go with her."

Ishafel nodded in agreement.

"Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

She moved quite quickly, and Dylan and Ishafel took off after her.

"She'll put us all in the pot, She will." Daveth mumbled in their wake, "Just you watch."

"If the pot is warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change." Jory snapped back.

It was not far. A large, gangly wood structure appeared so suddenly that Dylan was certain there had to be a magic shield in place. The building was large enough that they should have noticed it before. An old woman stood at the entrance way, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face.

"Greetings, mother. I bring before you five Grey Wardens who-"

"I see them, girl. Mmm. There are more than I expected. Does it matter? Probably not."

The woman managed to shove Morrigan aside gracefully as she approached them to get a better look.

Dylan felt the air flutter slightly, a tremble in the earth accompanied it. The others seemed not to notice his discomfort. It was magic then, a powerful kind, and the old woman was the source of it. It would appear Daveth was correct after all.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair said hotly. Her lips curled into a sneer. Somebody was going to have to teach him some diplomacy. He was already hurting their cause. It was a well-known fact that if something magic and powerful has you by the short hairs, you were supposed to be nice to it!

"_You_ are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight or open ones arms wide, either way, one is a fool!"

"She's a witch, I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!" Daveth pleaded, but nobody paid him any mind.

"Quiet Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?" Jory snapped, annoyed, but he and Daveth both stood as far away from the woman as possible.

"There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

"And what of you?" She turned to Dylan and Ishafel, the last to be addressed though they stood closest to her "Do the minds of elves and mages provide you with different you points. What do you believe?

Dylan's eyes swept the old woman from head to toe. There was powerful magic at work here, it had twined about them all like snakes, even Morrigan was ensnared, but nobody seemed to react. The question seemed almost like a test. It was all very peculiar and for once Dylan did not have the answer.

"I am no fool, if that's what you are asking." He meant the comment to imply that he knew of the magic encircling them, but the woman just laughed at him although it had been a comment on his intelligence.

"Well, If you protest so much, then the answer is fairly obvious, isn't?"

The smarmy edge in her voice inferred that he had just summarily failed whatever it was that she was testing for.

"And you, muddy little elf?"

Ishafel, for her part, answered as truthfully as possible. The air was strange here, and the Dalish made a point of being truthful when weirdness was involved.

"I do not know what to believe."

The old woman's smile slipped slightly, her eyes momentarily hardened.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware... or is it oblivious? I can never remember."

Her opinion of the group formed, she took a step closer and peered at them; looking at something that mortal eyes could not see. Or perhaps taking a better look at the mud coating on Ishafel.

"So much about you is uncertain...and yet I believe. Do I? Why it seems I do!"

She chuckled to herself manically, causing Ishafel to take a step back. She gave them all the highly satisfied smile of someone who knew a secret, or who was insane.

Most of the party seem to settle on the latter opinion.

"So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair smirked.

If possible the old woman looked even more amused.

"Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh how she dances under the moon!"

Morrigan flinched. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

Her voice was both annoyed and petulant, like a child betrayed. The woman tossed her head back, and a look passed between them before she answered.

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you start barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

There was a gargling sound that sounded very much like Alistair was choking on his own tongue.

"You protected them?" Dylan repeated, brow furrowed.

She raised an imperious eyebrow; "And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than thy realize!"

"What do you mean," Ishafel asked warily, "greater than they realized?"

But she just smiled that smile again.

"Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing."

This time it was Dylan and Ishafel who exchanged looks.

"Oh, don't mind me. You have what you came for!"

Morrigan seemed to take this as a signal to take over.

"Time for you to go then."

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," she said genially, "These are your guests."

Grunting in a very non-ladylike way, Morrigan gave a smile that would scare small children.

"Oh, very well then. I will show you out of the Woods. Perhaps we can even find a stream to prevent the mud from becoming a permanent part of your visage," she said, eying Ishafel.

"Follow me."


	8. Part 1: Chapter 3: Sweet Bloody Succor

Author's Note: I managed to hammer out Chapter 3 faster that usual! I hope you enjoy it. As always, reviews, constructive criticism, suggestions and comments are loved and appreciated! Thank you to my reviewers for taking the time to let me know their thoughts and thank you to my beta for beta-ing this so quickly!

Nagirrom: I'm glad you think the dialogue works, I was slightly worried about the Alistair and Jory parts.

Sati James: I have the pairings almost worked out in my brain, but I'll consider your suggestions =)

Dragon age: Origins, it's characters and a large chunk of dialogue near the end is the property of Biowear, I make no claims to any of it, I'm just having fun.

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Part :1 Ostagar

Chapter 3: Sweet Bloody Succor

The way back was much shorter than the way going, even with Ishafel stopping to remove the mud that was now caked on her armor and stomach. While watching her clean it off in a small, mud-less, stream Daveth had an epiphany.

"Hey, your armor..."

"Yes, what about it?" she replied distractedly, scrubbing her stomach as hard as she was able. The Wilds mud did not seem to want to let go of her skin.

"It's open at the stomach."

Ishafel knew that, seeing she was scrubbing her stomach clean at the moment.

"Yes, it makes it light, easy to travel in."

"Well, you don't think that the darkspawn will take advantage of that little opening? Stick one of their smelly little swords right through you?"

Ishafel bristled, "They haven't been able to do so yet. My middle seems bereft of any holes."

"He doesn't mean any offense." Alistair pointed out. He was leaning on a tree next to the stream bank.

"It's a valid point. Dalish armor might be good for tracking animals and fending of foes in small numbers, but it's not going to help you when you face a horde in battle. Best to _not_ become a pincushion. We've found some coin here and there, you should see the quartermaster when we get back. There are some fairly light armors that cover the stomach."

"Besides," Jory added, his back turned to Ishafel even though she was still dressed in her armor. "Showing so much skin is indecent."

Grumbling to herself, She turned her back on all of them, wondering why they all seemed to be focused on her stomach anyway.

And then she nearly passed out. Her vision swam and rippled like the water beneath her.

She cursed, there had been so much to do; when was the last time Dylan healed her? This morning?

Stammering forward, she slipped on a rock. She braced herself for the water, but it never came.

Dylan was standing knee deep in the water, holding her up. His hand lay on the flat of her stomach. The feather touch of healing magic tickled her belly button and the world was less watery than a moment before. Her body was rubber, her arms and legs limp at her side. The roar of blood in her ears prevented her from hearing Dylan's admonishment, but she did feel the mouth of his flask as he forced her to drink that horrible herbal remedy.

Dylan breathed a sigh of relief as Ishafel suddenly convulsed as if she was coming up for air after a long swim. A moment later she was back on her feet as if nothing had happened, spitting and swearing that he was trying to kill her with his potions. But for all the sharp words, there was a sincere thank you in her eyes. There wasn't much time left for her, he realized, if they did not cure her soon.

He didn't know much about darkspawn taint. They had been so rare before now that the circle had never taught them anything of it. Duncan spoke to him of the various remedies people had used before him. But he did not know how it worked, what organs it effected first, how it progressed and the like. He was sure there was a book in the circle library, but a fat lot of good it did him when he was standing a a swamp. He knew for certain that she should be on her deathbed right now, but the Maker moved in mysterious ways.

The last rays of twilight were disappearing as they returned to camp. Ishafel grabbed onto his arm as they were walking through the gate and did not let go. He was tempted to carry her to Duncan, but she would probably stick one of those wicked blades clean through his skull before she let him do anything like that. If Ishafel had one thing, it was pride. He was not without understanding though. He wouldn't want any of the assembled company to think him weak either. She stopped him at a spiked fence. A man was muttering to himself about darkspawn blood and treatments. This, he gathered, must be the kennel master. He looked up at the sound of their shuffling feet.

"Ah, back from the wilds, eh?"

Ishafel nodded, "Are these the flowers you were talking about?" She pulled the rumpled red and white blooms from her belt.

"Perfect! Exactly what I needed!"

Her face lit up and Dylan had to fight back a smile. So she was fond of animals as well as children; Not that there was much difference he shrugged inwardly to himself.

"I'll start his treatment right away! He needs a new master, you know. Come back after the battle, and will see about imprinting him to you!"

"Imprinting?" Dylan asked

"Mabari usually only choose one master; to whom they are unswervingly loyal to. When an owner dies, there's a chance that the mabari will follow him to the grave." He reached down and rubbed the recovering creature behind the ears. "This fellow has too much fire in him to simply roll over and wait for death though, and he probably understands you're responsible for his recovery. They are about as smart as your average tax collector."

Ishafel leaned over the fence and said something softly in elvish. The Mabari turned towards her voice, whining softly. The whining increased as Dylan led Ishafel away.

Dylan's feet welcomed Duncan's bonfire, despite gathering warm air round himself and Ishafel to dry them off, they were still damp and a real fire was welcome.

"I've had the circle mages preparing" Duncan informed them when they arrived. "With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the joining immediately.

"Maybe we should tell you about Morrigan and her mother..." Dylan began, Alistair took over.

"There was a woman at the tower and her mother had the scrolls. They were both very..."

"Odd." Dylan finished for him.

Duncan paused, considering.

"Were they wilder folk?"

"I don't think so" Ishafel added. "They seemed to be apostates, hiding from your chantry."

It was the wrong thing to say, Ishafel thought as she saw Duncan's eyes shoot over to Alistair.

"I know you were once a templar, Alistair." He said firmly, "But chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls; let us focus on the joining.

Dylan made up his mind to speak to him again after the joining. Something told him that Morrigan and her mother should not be ignored.

"Now will you tell us what this ritual is about?" Ishafel asked impatiently.

Duncan looked grave as he answered, a deep furrow creasing his forehead.

"I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.

"You are saying this ritual can kill us?" Jory asked, flabbergasted.

Ishafel wondered why he seemed so surprised. He had sent them to fight darkspawn for the creators' sake, that could have easily killed them. Personally, she had figured it out long ago. Whatever it was that had the power to take away that burning in her bones had to have the power to kill her or it simply wouldn't be strong enough.

Dylan just sighed to himself inwardly. It was the harrowing all over again. Knowing his luck they were probably going to make him drink something awful. And he had just got that horrible lyrium taste out of his mouth.

Duncan turned to Jory.

"As much as any darkspawn you might face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance of surviving."

"Let's go then" Daveth said bravely, "I'm anxious to see this joining now."

"I agree," Jory said, there was only a slight waver in his voice. "Let's have it done."

Duncan nodded.

"Alistair, take then to the old temple." he instructed. Duncan headed towards the mages' compound.

Jory paced nervously around the small wooden table that was set in the middle of the temple as they waited, his heavy footfalls echoing off the stone. The tension crackled in the air. This was it. The deep breath before the plunge.

"The more I hear about this joining the less I like it." He decreed suddenly.

Daveth rolled his eyes "Are you blubbering again?"

"Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition." Dylan shrugged

"Maybe there just trying to annoy you" Daveth tacked on, earning him a furious glare.

Ishafel had quite enough of that. "I swear, I'm the bravest one here and I'm a woman." She muttered to herself.

"Hey!" Dylan shouted, insulted.

Daveth and Jory didn't pay any attention, they were too busy squaring off against each other.

"I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me... it just doesn't seem fair" Jory ended indignantly.

Ishafel sighed to herself. A tingle in her bones was heralding another attack of illness, she did not need this right now.

"Would you have come if they warned you?" Dylan asked softly, surprising her,

Jory's mouth hung open and Daveth sprung at the opening

"Maybe that's why they don't. The wardens do what they must."

"Including sacrificing us?" Jory managed to get out.

"I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the blight." Daveth shot back.

"You make a good point." Ishafel conceded tiredly, leaning on the stone of Ostagar to keep her upright. What was taking Duncan so long?

"You saw those Darkspawn, ser knight." Alistair said, his voice held the same soft understanding as Dylan. "Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

"Maybe you'll die, Maybe we'll all die. If nobody stops the darkspawn we'll die for sure." Ishafel told him.

Jory, outnumbered, finally ceased his complaining and Duncan arrived. A large goblet in his hands.

"At last, We come to the joining," Duncan said proudly. "We speak only a few words prior to the joining, but these words have been said since the first, Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair bowed his head, his usually jaunty voice somber.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Duncan held out the goblet to Daveth.

"Daveth, from this day forward, you are a Grey Warden."

Daveth's hands did not tremble, his will did not waver, not even when he saw the darkspawn and lyrium mixed blood before him. He drank steadily. It happened very quickly. Hands were at his throat, clawing as though he was on fire, eyes went whiter than moonstone. He managed to catch himself on all fours before his face contorted in terror. His body went rigid and then collapsed completely. He was dead.

A mix between a gasp and a sob bubbled out of Ishafel, her hands clapped over her mouth.

It was one thing to know that death was possible, it was quite another to see it; and it had not been a clean death, she was sure. Nobody died with a look like that on their face when the death was clean.

Duncan seemed only to be disappointed. "I am sorry, Daveth." He said to the corpse, before turning to Jory. The knight was backing away from Duncan as though he himself were darkspawn.

"No, I can't! Y-you ask to much!" He unsheathed his greatsword.

"Jory!" Dylan began, attempting to talk the man down. Before anyone could do anything, Duncan drew a dagger and plunged it into his stomach. Blood spurted out on to the stone as Jory fell forward, eyes wide and unseeing in death. The corpse fell over Duncan like an embrace.

"I am sorry, Jory." He whispered in the man's ear. It was Duncan's fervent wish that he heard the apology before he died. He placed the body onto the stone and once again picked up the goblet that had been put to rest so Duncan could kill a man. Ishafel and Dylan both stood in horror. Neither one moved to take the goblet and for the moment Duncan didn't offer it.

"You must understand;" Duncan said firmly, "you have been called upon. As you were when I met you, you both would have been dead sooner rather than later. With this I offer you a chance to do some good before death claims you, as it does all of us."

It was the burning under her skin, and not Duncan's impassioned speech that brought Ishafel out of shock. That's right, she thought to herself, I'm dying. I'll be dead soon. She looked at the goblet, and held out her hands. Not yet, she thought, Not yet.

Duncan's face sagged in clear relief. "Ishafel Mahariel" He said her full name to her for the first time, a reminder of all she had been in her life up to now "From this day forth, you are a Grey Warden."

She held the goblet for a moment, smooth marble against her skin. Her lips grazed the rim, she tilted back her head ever so slightly and drank.

Dylan watched horrified as she writhed on the ground before him, eyes peeled back head slamming into the dirt. A piercing howl rose in the air. The sharp notes seem to make the convulsions worse; then it all stopped abruptly. The lines on her face melted away. She was at peace, the hard struggle of illness had left her features.

She is dead, Dylan thought.

Ishafel opened her eyes and stared up from the ground at the three of them like she had awoken from a nightmare.

Duncan wore a satisfied smile as he helped her up.

"Congratulations, Ishafel."

There was only one gulp left of the draught.

"Dylan Amell-" Duncan began, Dylan didn't let him finish. He snatched the goblet from Duncan and drank deeply, slamming the goblet down on the table beside him as though he were in a drinking game. The darkspawn blood raced down Dylan's throat, collapsing the airway as it went, he could barely breathe. He was on his knees before he realized he fell. He heard a shout that he thought was Ishafel but it was swallowed up by a roar. The stone of Ostagar fell away to reveal a curtain of green luminescence Darkspawn were everywhere and above them stood the creature that he had seen at the tower, no longer wreathed in shadow.

The Archdemon was a gruesome sight. A dragon who wore it's innards on the outside. It fixed him with one wild white eye and roared. The roaring transformed in into singing, beautiful, glorious sounds that terrified him. He was there only a second more before he was falling, falling...

His eyes snapped open to see Ishafel above him. Her dark eyes wide with fright, which morphed into concern when she realized he was alive.

"Dylan! Are you alright?" She asked, shaking.

"No, but I'll live." he replied, and she helped him up from ground.

"Sorry," Dylan said to Duncan, "I just couldn't stand the tension any longer."

Duncan nodded in understanding.

"It is over." He said quietly, "Welcome"

The bodies of Daveth and Jory were nowhere in sight, Dylan noticed, he must have been out for longer than he realized.

"Two more deaths." Alistair shuddered "In my joining, only one of us died, but it was...horrible. I'm glad two of you made it through at least."

"How do you feel?" Duncan asked, he held Ishafel up by her elbow

"Nothing you said could have ever prepared me for that."

"Such is what it takes to be a Grey Warden."

"There is one last thing we do." Alistair held out two pendants to them.

"What is it?" Ishafel asked, holding up the blood red stone to the moonlight.

"We take a little of the blood we use in the joining and seal it in these pendants to remind of of those who did not make it and that one day we will join them. It is called the Warden's Oath."

Dylan slid his around his neck, the stone curiously slid directly over his heart, as if the darkspawn blood desired to run through veins. Ishafel tied hers to her belt. It took a moment longer than usual. Her hands still shook.

"When you are ready. I'd like you both to accompany me to a meeting held by the king. Why he asked for you specifically,"He said to Ishafel, "I am unsure. I doubt he will turn you away, Dylan. Take your time. It is not scheduled for a while yet.

The tense party broke up and Dylan disappeared almost immediately to vomit again; and he thought the lyrium aftertaste was bad! It would probably take two whole weeks for the taste of blood, ash and lyrium to leave his throat. He stayed out of sight for the moment, sagging against a pillar. Perhaps it was wrong of him to seek solitude when he had been so close to death not a minute ago, but he couldn't stand to be near another living being at the moment. Wherever that had been it was not the fade. He didn't know why he expected it to be the same. A place where he could trick or bargain himself away from danger. When he had looked into the face of the archdemon, he had known then. He was going to die. For the first time really understood what that meant. He would have given himself a moment more, but Ishafel's raised voice drew him away.

"Listen, you bloody knife ear! I told you, I don't sell to your kind!" The quartermaster snarled

"No, you listen, you creator cursed shem," she shouted back, she had been through far too much tonight to handle stupid ignorance.

Ishafel did not realize that she had a dagger in her hand until Dylan's hand was on hers, forcing her to lower it.

"If by 'her kind' you mean Grey Wardens," he said coldly, "Then Duncan will be hearing of this."

The man broke out in a cold sweat. "N-no! I did not realize, ser... What do you need, miss?"

Ishafel sheathed the dar'misu. "Armor. Light and easy to move in, but not open at the stomach."

"Give her some leather armor, Harold," A voice interrupted. "I'll check the lacing, so don't give her anything shoddy."

Harold the quartermaster jumped to do as he was told. They both looked behind them to see the female solider that Dylan have rescued from Daveth earlier in the day. She gave them both a cheery smile that they couldn't return.

"Nice to see you both back, safe and sound. Where is your friend?" She inquired.

"Daveth..." Ishafel began.

the woman's face fell. "I..see."

Harold returned with the armor. The solider, who introduced herself as Myria helped Ishafel get it on properly.

"This is a good set. Look" she bent the laces. "Make sure that these stay supple, otherwise your armor may fall off during battle. We wouldn't want, that would we?" Ishafel would have been affronted

She waved goodbye to them.

"Daveth wanted me to look into new armor." She explained before Dylan asked, "I felt I had to honor his last wish, even if he was a shem."

"You didn't have to explain," he said quietly as they walked up the stone ramp towards the king's table.

"I understand."

They were late. Ishafel realized it when she heard the shouting. The king and a man who could only be Teyrn Loghain seemed to be arguing with each other. Duncan motioned them discreetly to come and stand beside him.

"Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault." Cailan's eyes flickered to the movement on his left. Ishafel did not look at him, but a trained hunter knew when eyes were on her. A moment later Cailan's voice rang out, delighted.

"And these are the recruits I met on earlier on the road? I understand congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, your majesty" They said together. Dylan's voice was slightly louder than hers, Ishafel noted. Perhaps he noticed that King Cailan was focusing most of his words on her.

"Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks."

There was a huffing to the king's right and Ishafel let her gaze wander. The man beside the king, Teyrn Loghain, had a look of disgust on his face aimed at her that so palpable she almost wanted to take a step back.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality."

Cailan was annoyed, but allowed him to explain the plan to the gathered party.

"So the beacon is the key," Cailan said to himself considering.

"It is an easy task, your majesty." The mage Nathan, the very one Alistair had been needling, said grandly, "You can rely on the mages to-"

"We will trust nothing to your foul magics!" The Reverend mother cut him off, practically lunging at him the way a terrier might snap at a fox.

"Well, If this is so important, than we should entrust the task to our best! Send Alistair and the new Grey Wardens to light the beacon." the king said satisfied.

Loghain looked ready to have an aneurysm. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise? Cailan shrugged him off, instead giving orders to all to prepare for battle. There was a foul breath on the wind, Ishafel realized belatedly, and it smelled of darkspawn. She wasn't the only one who noticed. Anxiety seemed to settle over the camp like a tangible entity. Soldiers faces aged as they finished preparing their blades. Archers became lithe and quick in the instant they tightened their bowstrings.

The walk back to the bonfire was silent. The lines in Duncan's face seemed to deepen as he thought. Finally, when they reached their destination, he spoke almost as if he were wondering why they were still there.

"You heard the plan. You three will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"We won't be in the battle?" Dylan asked, and immediately felt like a coward for being relieved.

"What!" Alistair balked, "You're actually going to let that order stand. The king is not the commander of the Grey Wardens!"

"But I am," Duncan reminded him, " This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge."

"So he needs three Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?" Alistair remarked bitterly.

"It's a waste of resources, Duncan." Ishafel pointed out, "The king surely has scouts or runners for this sort of thing. We should be in the battle!"

"This is not your choice," He bellowed sternly, "If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure that the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn... exciting or no.

"I get it, I get it. Just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no." Alistair muttered.

Dylan let out an irreverent snort.

"You have some very odd ideas about your king." Ishafel replied, confused

"I happen to be quiet fetching in a dress"

Dylan snorted again. Duncan sighed.

"The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king's camp, the way we came when we arrived. From the top you should be able to see the entire valley."

"Sounds easy enough." Dylan replied, "But what if the archdemon appears?"

"We soil our drawers, that's what" Alistair responded

Duncan sighed at him once more.

"If it does, leave it to us. I want know heroics from any of you."

"Can we join in the battle afterwards?" Ishafel asked. Hadn't Duncan promised her revenge?

"Stay with the Teyrn's men and guard the tower. If you are needed, we will send word."

A horn sounded in the distance.

"I must join the others. From here you three are on your own. Remember you are Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

"Duncan... may the maker watch over you." Alistair said quietly

"May he watch over us all."

The sounds of the horns and the baying of the Mabari clashed with dark howls and pounding of earth under foot. This was unlike any of the hunts Ishafel had been on. This was war, and it was loud. They moved quickly. The shouting of orders mingled in the air as they crossed the long stone bridge they cam in on. Ishafel turned her head to the side for a moment, and saw the horde. The valley was lit up. Evil twinkles promising fire and ruin flared out from the sea of darkspawn below.

"Look out!"

A rock smashed into the bridge throwing Ishafel back and Dylan forward. The bridge shook but held, and the sky took this moment to open up and pour hard sheets of rain upon them.

"Hurry! Alistair shouted.

At least the tower would be dry, even if there task was an uneventful one. They reached the ramp as a wounded solider stumbled down it.

"You..." His eyes were open wide with pain and fear. "You're the Grey Wardens, aren't you? The tower...it's been taken!


	9. Part 1: Chapter 4: The Higher We Climb

_Author's note: Sorry it took me so long to update this. I had my entire life uprooted, and it's just settled down recently. In answer to insane's question: the pairings for this fic are not set in stone as of yet. Feel free to make suggestions when you review. I can't promise I'll use them, but I will take them into consideration. As always enjoy. Much love to my beta for inadvertently reminding me to update! Reviews and constructive criticisms are adored, appreciated and considered._

_Disclaimer: I make no money from this, bioware and ea, so leave me be.  
_

_~Scarlet_

* * *

Part 1: Ostagar

Chapter 4: The Higher We Climb

"What do you mean 'taken'!"

The answer to Dylan's question was made self explanatory when an arrow flew past his ear. He cast a cold spell to kill the shooter as fast as he could, as they were already being charged by hurlocks. There had to be a more efficient way to do this. He felt the cold spell in his mind and mana, focusing and stretching the spell until he felt he had something.

"Ishafel!" he shouted as he opened his eyes, "get out of the way!"

She obeyed just as the sliver stream of frost shot out of his hands and staff. He smiled at his success; three hurlocks frozen stiff. Ishafel kicked the legs out under one and he shattered on the ground leaving a bloody mess of flesh and ice. Alistair and the guard managed to make quick work of the remaining two. A high pitch scream coincided with a flash of lightning.

"Shrieks!" Alistair shouted over the crash of thunder. Ishafel darted two and fro, staying just out of reach of the monsters' killer claws. The first died from Ishafel's dagger anchored in his darkspawn equivalent of a belly. The next from a vicious slash to the throat. The third had his head taken clean off. She hadn't noticed the fourth. Cleverer than his brethren, he had been the only one to take advantage of dark and shadow. He uncoiled behind her, claws high, ready for the kill. Ishafel slammed into the dirt below as the creature was taken off balance by Alistair's shield. She rolled out of reach as Alistair, Dylan and their new guard companion hacked and blasted the creature to bits. Good riddance. With the death of the too smart for his own good darkspawn, the courtyard was merciful quiet. Taking a moment to search the corpses and check their wounds, the four of them kept a watchful eye on the door.

"What happened?" Alistair asked as he patched a small but bleeding cut on his eyebrow.

"They- they just- they came from nowhere! right out of the ground!" The guard answered. Ishafel could hear the fear and exhaustion in his voice.

"Andraste's tits" Dylan swore under his breath.

They entered the base of the tower cautiously. Signs of battle were obvious. Snapped and charred wood was all that was left of the stately barricades the garrison had built to keep out intruders. The room was suspiciously quiet.

The room was a flat stone circle, connecting to a suite of hallways that led upstairs. In less threatening times it would be a short and simple walk to the other side, but the immovable fallen defenses turned the room into a maze. In addition, the walls did not quite connect to the ceiling, ideal hobby holes for archers. The more she thought about it, the more Ishafel was certain it was an ambush.

"Tread carefully" she whispered, sheathing the trusty Dar'misu for a slender bow.

Dylan looked at her, curious. He had heard, indirectly, of Ishafel's prowess with a bow. Although he had barely been paying attentionas he confronted what he considered in his mind 'The Jowan Incident'; the whispers, and in the case of certain eleven apprentices, the exclamations, that Ishafel was displaying her skills for the children had reached him. She was very popular in the tower, despite the fact that her stay had been brief. Alim and the elven apprentices had swooned over the idea of a elven Grey Warden, and a Dalish besides. He was quite certain that Ishafel had been the victim of many spy eyes spells that day. Half the tower had seen her shoot. However, the whole near week he had traveled with her, she had not once lifted a bow. Dylan was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the slender wire stretched out across the entrance to the barricade maze.

His ankle nicked the wire ever so slightly.

He was barely able to register it's touch before deafening explosions blossomed from every barrel in the room. With a not-so-mighty "Eep!" Dylan and Alistair went flying into the barricades. The fire blinded Dylan for a moment, but he could hear the darkspawn war cries singing around him. He reached out into the air for a cold spell to put out the fire and found nothing. The air was far too dry to support the spell. Changing focus, a lightning bolt snapped through the air, electrocuting whatever was trying to attack him. The world shifted back into focus, first in black and whites and then slid into color. The guard was fending off hordes of hurlocks and arrows rather poorly. Ishafel was shooting archers with a machine like ferocity, and Alistair was on fire. Literally. He pulled the stunned man off the barricades and patted down the fires that were being kindled by the small gaps in his splintmail. As soon as the man was sure he wasn't ablaze, He rushed into the fray. The battle ended quickly after that. They hurried through the burning maze into stone corridors flush with darkspawn. Hacking and slashing, they at last reached the stairwell to the next level. Something entirely unexpected was waiting.

Dylan let out an appreciating whistle as the four of them stared at the humungous hole in the floor.

"Take a look at that beauty" He gave a small kick to a bit of rubble at his feet, and they listened to in drop to the bottom. The plink took far too long for anyones liking.

"This must be how they got in," Ishafel murmured in thought, "This must lead to the Deep Roads."

"But why here?" Alistair asked, shaking his head. "There weren't suppose to be any darkspawn here!

"Be sure to tell the darkspawn that." Dylan chuckled ruefully. "Besides, Alistair, I thought you wanted to be in battle."

"Yes, but, well... I did say that, didn't I? Let's get that beacon lit, I'm sure we've missed the signal by now."

Ishafel kept an ear to the stone as they moved. The darkspawn on the second floor were not as cautious as those on the first. The subtle vibration was usually a good warning and allowed them to kill the darkspawn as quietly as possible until they reached the long hall before the suite of rooms that lead to the third floor. It was crawling with genlocks. They would be overwhelmed before they managed to break though the line.

"Is there a way to lure them out in small groups?" Dylan whispered to Ishafel. She had taken point, her slight frame allowing her to hide behind the thin pillars in the hall without being seen. She scanned the area, there were cages lining the walls. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. Were those humans in there? No, she realized, moving from one column to another to preform a closer inspection. They were mabari! Her eyes searched the room until she found what she was looking for. She was going to have to be quick about this.

A genlock threw back his head and bellowed as she darted out of her hiding spot. Throwing herself forward she put all her weight onto the switch that released the cages. The mabari poured out like a purging flood, overwhelming the darkspawn. Dylan, Alistair and the guard cleaned up the last of the stragglers. A furry, barking mass encircled Ishafel, yapping thanks.

"Thank you," She said solemnly to the pack of dogs, "you should probably get out of here."

There were more yips, some short barks but none of the dogs moved to go.

"We have no time to waste, we must go." She moved toward their goal and the dogs followed.

"I think this is their way of telling you they're coming too." Alistair chuckled moving along side the Mabari mass. "Isn't that right, boys?" They all barked together in what could certainly be taken as a confirmation.

"They are war dogs" Dylan pointed out; "They have to be as least as good as Alistair."

"Hey!"

"They're not soldiers, they're dogs." There were a few flattened ears at that comment. "They were brought here in crates. They did not chose to be in the battle."

"They didn't cower when you leased them on the darkspawn, did they? They've made their choice; as do we all." Dylan replied, scratching the nearest mabari behind his ears, the dog craned his head appreciatively.

She shrugged, and they continued forward. It was a much easier trek with a fleet of mabari at their side. They demolished the third floor, then the fourth, then the fifth. The last set of stairs was so covered in darkspawn, it was as though the were climbing up corpses, not stairs, to get to the top. Alistair slipped and fell backwards down the pile more than once. They tumbled through the wooden door at the peak of the stairs at last with the remaining mabari. The door had been barricaded. Surely the men up here had been able to defend themselves, surely...

Ishafel froze in horror.

"Andraste's grace..." Dylan breathed.

Around them the mabari whined, howled and barked nervously pawing on the stone.

"What? What is it?" Alistair said to the backs of his two companions, before looking up.

"An ogre? How..How'd that even fit through the doorway?"

The remaining men in the tower were dealing with a truly monstrous creature. Ishafel was only about the size of it's shins. Dar'misu for teeth and hammers for arms, the ogre was possibly the most disgusting thing Ishafel had seen in her entire life. She experienced the same chill of fear that she had in the cave, where she had fought the bear with it's insides out. The men around it died like ants being squashed by small children for fun.

The Ogre roared and charged. Ishafel was stuck in place, like a deer caught in torchlight, eyes wide.

"Ishafel! Ishafel, move!"

A explosive force at her back slammed her to the ground. It was followed by a gnarled cry. With Ishafel knocked out of the way, the ogre had threw itself into Alistair. Luckily, his shield had been up, sparing him the painful experience of being disemboweled. Ishafel recovered her wits enough to bury her dar'misu deep into the creature's shins before scrambling out of the way. Dylan circled, keeping himself out of reach of the ogre; which would have been a small comfort, except he was beset by three genlocks. Where were all these darkspawn coming from? The only entrance was practically blocked. He managed a feeble, but efficient lightning spell that pushed them back but it did not cause as nearly as much damage as he would like. He felt the burning tingle in his forehead that heralded mana exhaustion. He had never casted without a rest for so long before. Teeth sunk into his arm as a fourth genlock popped out of shadow. Reeling, he tumbled over backwards. A head flew off the nearest genlock and a shield bashed into the other two, holding them at bay. Glancing up at the genlock savaging his arm, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and drew on the last of his reserves. The genlock froze in place and lost most of his teeth as Dylan ripped his arm free. Giving the creature an almighty shove, he didn't need to look to know that it lay in pieces on the floor. Alistair gave him a rueful smile as him finished off the remaining genlocks and tossed him a vial.

"You might need this."

He looked down at the glowing blue in his hand. Lyrium potion. Dylan silently thanked all the stars in the sky. Finally, a templar when you actually needed one! He chugged the potion in one go. It wasn't a lot, but he wasn't going to argue as he felt the mana replenish in his veins. He wheeled towards the the ogre, ready to do his part.

Ishafel maneuvered quickly in and out of the area around the creature's legs, harrying ankle and knees. A swipe of the massive arms almost knocked her off her feet, but she managed to swerve away at the last moment. Their solider friend was not so lucky. With a sickeningly triumphant roar, the ogre griped the man by his torso and shook him hard. Two of the remaining Mabari threw themselves at the creatures arm but were shook off violently, flying into the wall to meet their deaths. Roaring again, The ogre ripped the man in two. Outraged, Ishafel slid across the floor, grabbing her dar'misu from the ogre's leg. It reached for her and she plunged her dagger into the palm of his meaty hand.

It was the opening Dylan was looking for. Dropping his staff, he felt the current build through out his entire body before releasing it in a blast through his hands. The massive burst of electricity wrapped itself around the dagger, conducting the magic through the ogre. It let out a small moan and stepped back. Ishafel seized the opportunity. She launched into the air and slammed her weapon into the creature's chest over and over, using her dagger to scale his body. He toppled to the ground. Not skipping a beat, she sheathed her dagger in the ogre's skull, causing instantaneous death. There was no moment of triumph, however. As her blade hit bone, an almighty pain slashed though her chest. She was not surprised to find the vicious head of a barbed arrow pointing out from her armor. Two more followed it in quick succession. With a small cry, she slid to the ground. Her head contacted hard with the top of a fallen iron torch, flame still burning, knocking her unconscious. Her hair crackled and was aflame instantly. Dylan rushed to his companion, screaming to Alistair to light the beacon. He put out her hair and dragged her away from the fire, looking in consternation at the burns and the arrow wounds. His back was turned to the doorway, so his only warning before the knife hit was Alistair screaming.

And then there was nothing for him.

Nothing at all.

The music washed over Ishafel like the tide, overwhelming then retreating, Overwhelming then retreating, back and forth, back and forth. It was calling to her, but she couldn't move. Groggily she tried to make sense of her surroundings, it was so dark. She had to go. She had to go to the music, deeper into the dark. She struggled against her bonds. A voice cut through the dark like a twig snapping in a quiet wood.

"Oh no, you don't!" it barked, followed by the smell of woodsmoke and herbs. It was soothing and demanding at the same time, pulling her back from the dark. She gave up and slipped away from the music, into what she was sure would be Fa'lon Din's hall.

It was a welcome relief.

When you do not expect to open your eyes again, it comes at quite a shock to be able to. Nursing a roaring headache that announced very clearly that he was not dead. Dylan came to in an unfamiliar place, but not to an unfamiliar face.

"Morrigan?"

"Ah, not too much damage, I see." He gold eyes appraised his face. "You were incredibly lucky. If the blade of that throwing knife had hit your skull instead of the hilt, you would be very dead."

So that was the cause for the monumental pain at the back of his head. There was a godawful smell in the air, right in front of his nose. He looked down to see his arm wrapped with bandages and herbs. Hesitantly, he tried to move and almost vomited for his trouble.

"Easy now. Mother's only just finished with you." Her head inclined towards the old woman they had met in the clearing. She stood over the bed, chanting, and spreading herbs on top of a prone body. The unfortunate victim gave a very feminine cry. Ishafel.

"Isha-" He shifted again, and Morrigan pressed him back on to his cot. "Sleep"

There must have been magic in her touch, for his mind turned off instantly.

He didn't even dream.

When he woke again, natural light poured down on to his face from the window, and the birdcalls did not make his head throb quite as much as they could have. Morrigan and her mother were gone, but he could hear low voices outside the hut. He tried to right himself and this time was successful. Giving himself a moment, he noticed their was still an occupant on the bed. It took him a moment before recognizing Ishafel. There was no longer a black curtain of hair obscuring her face. It had been cut away, brushing just above her earlobes now and throwing the tattoos on her face into sharp relief. Stepping closer to her, he could see a bandage over her shoulder. He leaned in to check the wound.

"If you are well enough to move around, then you should at least have to common sense to leave an injured person alone."

He whirled around and almost fell over. The wizened old woman seemed merely amused.

"Do not disturb her, she has only recently fell into a true sleep. Come outside, there is much to talk about."

Dylan did as he was told.

It was firelight and the soft rustle of sheets that woke Ishafel. She found herself staring up at Morrigan.

"Your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased."

"I remember you," Ishafel told herself more than the woman in front of her. "The girl from the wilds"

"I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten. And we are in the Wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds. You are welcome, by the way."

She tightened the bandage around the wound and Ishafel fought the urge to wince. Morrigan raised an eyebrow, but continued.

"How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?

All Ishafel could salvage way the face of the dead ogre and the shock of the arrow through her chest.

"I remember being overwhelmed by the darkspawn..."

Morrigan tied off the bandage with a flourish.

"Mother managed to save you and your friends, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you all live."

Ishafel breathed a sigh of relief. The feeling was short lived.

"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred

There was a swift, wrenching feeling in her chest. King Cailan. Duncan.

"Your friend... he is not taking it well."

"My friend? You mean Dylan?"

"No, the suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before. Alistair, I believe. Though the other is not taking it much better. They are outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke.

Ishafel took a deep breath and then another. There was only a twinge of pain in her chest. Still a moment more in bed would do no harm.

"I have some questions" she asked the witch, "If you don't mind."

Morrigan looked understanding, a new feature in her so far thorny personality. "I do not mind, take your time."

"Are we safe here? Where are the darkspwan."

"We are safe, for the moment, mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away. Once you leave it is uncertain what will happen. The horde has move on so you might avoid it.

"How did she manage to rescue us exactly."

"She turned into a giant bird and plucked you from the tower. It was perhaps fortunate that the red haired one passed out with you in his arms. Otherwise, she might not have gotten to you."

"Why save us?"

Morrigan frowned "I wonder at that myself, but she tells me nothing. I would have rescued your king. A king would be worth a much higher ransom than you."

Ishafel frowned back at the woman. "Were there any other survivors?" Duncan had to be alive. She just couldn't picture him dying on the battlefield. He couldn't have taken her from her home only to leave her without any direction. He wasn't allowed to just die and leave her here like this.

"Only stragglers, long since gone. You would not want to see what is happening in the valley now."

"I think I've asked enough questions."

She shuddered and carefully lifted herself out of bed. She managed to put on the armor that Morrigan gave her without help.

Morrigan held open the door, "Speak with mother and then be on your way."

She stepped out into the evening light.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, the both of you." the old woman chuckled.

"You..You're alive! We thought you were dead for sure!"

Alistair gave her a bone and wound crushing hug that was incredibly painful but she appreciated the sentiment.

If Ishafel had been told two weeks ago she would be grateful to be hugged by a shem, she would have laughed for a month straight, taken a deep breath, and kept laughing.

Dylan gave her a tired, relived smile. Ishafel suddenly remembered Morrigan's comment; that she had been found in Dylan's arms.

Dylan turned looked out over the swamp of the Wilds to the burning glow of Ostagar.

"This doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother we'd be dead atop that tower."

Towers seemed to be a real bane in his life. He would try to avoid them in the future.

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."

"I didn't mean..." he began to apologize and then stopped, a puzzled look on his face. "What do we call you, anyway? You never even told us your name."

The old woman shrugged, "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Dylan's mouth dropped open, Alistair stared and Ishafel's palms itched for a dagger.

Alistair recovered speech first.

"**The **Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right- you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?

Ishafel offered up a silent apology, hoping wherever Daveth might be, he would smirk at it.

Flemeth wore a predatory smile on her face, but her answer was nonchalant.

"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?

"If you're Flemeth, you must be very old and powerful." Dylan mused, clinically looking over the old woman. She laughed.

"Must I? Age and power are relative- it depends on who is asking. Compared to you? Yes, on both counts."

"Then why didn't you save Duncan? He is -was- our leader."

She shook her head. "I am sorry for your Duncan, but your grief must come later...in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now."

Not a one of them said a word. Three stares, one of sorrow, one of doubt, and one of thoughtfulness looked unseeingly in different directions.

Flemeth eyed the trio with distaste. This was certainly not the auspicious beginning she hoped for, but she'd have to make due.

"It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did the change when I wasn't looking."

"Of course not!" Alistair snapped.

"We were fighting the darkspawn, lest you forget." Dylan reminded her.

Ishafel said nothing, she continued to stare the path leading from Flemeth's to the rest of the world.

"Do you want to run? It's what the rest of your people have done." Her head snapped up towards Flemeth. "The blight will be on you sooner than you think. Run all you like. I have no time for cowards."

Her eyes flashed angrily, "I'm not going to run away."

"Duty. They've beat that into you, have they? Good."

She scowled, "What I want to know is how you knew."

"That you wanted to run? Simple, you were looking down the path like a rabbit might when faced with a fox."

"Not that. You said the threat was greater than we realized, and then all this happens."

Alistair looked suspiciously at Flemeth, "She's right. You could be in- in cahoots!"

Flemeth merely looked annoyed at the accusatory stares. "Cahoots? Why? What would I gain from impaling myself on a blight that can't be stopped? I have already stated the obvious. I am more powerful than any of you, and that makes privy to things you are not. Sometimes I like to share," she chuckled, "and sometimes I do not."

"Leave her alone. Divination is a well practiced apostate art. It's just magic, Alistair." Dylan said absentmindedly. He was deep in thought, still staring out at Ostagar.

But Alistair wouldn't let it go. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Your father was bereft of brains too, but not by this much." She muttered. "Would you like me to elaborate for your friends?" She smiled at him like an alligator. he shut his mouth so fast his jaw hurt.

"Now, back to uniting the land..."

"The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain." Dylan pinched his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "but why would he do it?"

"Now _that _is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the blight is an army he can out-maneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon" Alistair spat the word like a curse.

A great weight settled on Ishafel's shoulders and in her gut. She knew what she had to do, but she didn't like it, not one bit. She'd rather entertain foolish thoughts of going home to the clan in the free marches, than face the present. But the present would have to be dealt with sooner rather than later, and Mahariel did not raise cowards and deserters.

"Then we need to find this archdemon" She said with purpose. Alistair looked at her with that same almost pleasant look he leveled at her in the swamp when he thought she had gone mad.

"By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a blight with out an army of a half dozen nations at it's back. Not to mention, I don't know how!"

Ishafel made a stabbing motion with one of her daggers. "See? simple enough?"

"And I was worried about you." Alistair muttered sourly.

" You don't how to kill the archdemon? Or how to raise an army?" Flemeth mused. "It seems to me that those are two different questions, hmm? Have the wardens no allies these days?"

"I-I-I don't know" Alistiar sputtered, it was a habit of his, Ishafel noticed. "Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Oralis had been called, but you can bet Loghain has done something to turn them around. Agrh, Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely!"

Ishafel looked from Alistair to Dylan and back.

"Arl Eamon? Is this someone important?"

"Cailan's Uncle." Dylan explained.

Alistair seemed to completely miss the question. He was thinking hard.

"I suppose, Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar. He still has all his men and I know him. He's a good man well respected in the landsmeet. Of course, we could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" He

exclaimed.

"You think the Arl would believe us over the Teryn?" Dylan asked skeptically. "Surely there are other allies we could call on?"

"What about those treaties Flemeth gave us?" Ishafel ventured.

"See, there's a smart lass." As though she had been waiting the entire time for that conclusion

"Of course! the treaties! Grey wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves and mages and other places. They're obligated to help us during a blight!"

Alistair seemed to light up. Apparently he wasn't very good without direction, Dylan noted himself dryly, Maker help him once he got going.

"I may be old but dwarves, elves and mages, this Arl Eamon and who knows what else? That sounds like an army to me."

It almost sounded as though Flemeth was egging him on, but there was no harm in it that Dylan could see.

He turned to them excitedly,

"So can we do this, go to Redcliffe and these other places and... build an army?"

Dylan shrugged his shoulders in fake innocence, "Why not? Isn't that what Grey Warden's do?"

Ishafel shot him a stern look, "I doubt it will be as easy as that."

Maker help him, he was going to have to teach this woman sarcasm.

Flemeth laughed. It sounded like rustling leaves and breaking twigs caught in a nasty wind.

"Ha, ha, when is it ever? So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

"As ready as we'll ever be." Dylan said nonchalantly. He had the funniest feeling he was about to be involved in one of the epic quests that Surana used to read to him when they were children. He always pitied those people, suspecting that it wasn't as glorious if you were actually experiencing it.

Ishafel said it best. "I'd be happy with just staying alive."

Both Dylan and Alistair laughed.

"Mm. Come to think of it, that would be nice."

"Now before you go, there is one more thing I can offer you..." Flemeth's voice trialed off as Morrigan reached them."

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have three guests for the eve or none?" She gave them a viperish look that stated her preference quite clearly.

"The Grey Wardens are leaving, girl..."

"Oh really? that's such a-"

"And you shall be joining them."

"shame- WHAT?"

Her surprise was not half a large as everyone else's. Flemeth just smiled knowingly.

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears" she laughed. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" She asked incredulously. Flemeth fixed her with a cynical eye.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance."

"Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us..." Ishafel began. Flemeth cut her off sharply.

"Consider this repayment for your lives."

Alistair fixed Morrigan with a critical eye, in turn she raised an eyebrow at him. It was not promising.

"Not to...look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man," Flemeth said lightly, "perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

"Point taken"

Ishafel held up her hands in acquiescence. "Very well, we'll take her with us."

Morrigan's glare was even harsher than her mother's.

"Mother... this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready. Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you they will surely fail, and all will perish under the blight. Even I.

Morrigan looked absolutely miserable.

"I...understand."

Flemeth turned her hawkish gaze back on the wardens.

"And you, wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

"She won't come to harm with us." Dylan promised for all of them. He didn't know if it was quiet true, but he felt that is was best not to disappoint the lady.

Morrigan looked at them like they were pond scum. "Allow me to get my things, if you please."

She came back far faster than anyone had expected. Even Ishafel, who was quite fond of packing light, would have to pack more.

"I am at your disposal Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. "Tis not far and you will find much you need there." She shot Alistair a withering glare in response to his sidelong inspection of her. "Or if you prefer, I will be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

"No, I prefer you speak your mind." Dylan said quickly. Ishafel concurred with a nod.

Flemeth chuckled. "You will regret saying that."

"Dear, sweet mother," Morrigan's voice had a caustic edge that Dylan could not help but admire. "You are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."

Flemeth was unscathed. "Well, I always said, if you want something done, do it yourself." her voice took on an annoyed tone "or hear about it for a decade or two after."

"Farewell, Mother. Do not forget the stew on the fire, I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah. 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight."

Morrigan looked stricken.

"I...all I meant was..."

Flemeth patted her shoulder, and for a moment they look just like any other mother and daughter making up after an argument.

"Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear."

Morrigan took the lead, directing them to a little used path to the right of the hut. Ishafel could not be sure, she thought she saw wetness in the girl's eyes.

Probably just the light.


	10. Part 2: Chapter 1: Roadside Stories

_Well, it's been awhile since my last update. I have been writing this chapter for most of it. I was trying to avoid giving Lothering it's own Part, but 25 pages into the supposed last chapter of part 1 I realized it was not to be. So I give you chapter 1 of Part 2: Fear and Lothering. Enjoy! Props to my beta reader, almostinsane, for getting this done before the holidays. He's a treasure._

_Reviews are loved and wanted, same goes for constructive criticism._

* * *

Part 2: Fear and Lothering

Chapter 1: Roadside Stories

The Wilds was wetter than the Brecillan, and the going was slower. In addition, Morrigan set a pace that was brutal to those who were not use to the terrain. The trees in the part of the Wilds Morrigan had seen fit to take them through grew with an uncomfortable closeness that even Ishafel seemed to find disconcerting. It was almost as if they were leaning in on each other, whispering behind their backs. On top of that, the company was quiet. There were the usual forest sounds, but nobody said a word for the entire first leg of the journey.

It was positively deafening. By noon of the second day, Dylan finally had enough.

"Tell me about this village to the north. "

Morrigan arched a thin eyebrow, appraising him.

"'Tis a small place of little consequence called Lothering."

She swung herself up over a ridge, putting distance between them.

"No more than a stop along your Imperial highway where travelers purchase goods from local farms and smiths." She called over her shoulder while he scrambled after her, the vaulted tree roots making the climb even more unpleasant.

Beside him Ishafel, climbed the ledge gracefully. Anchoring herself on a root, she reached down to him and extended her hand. He was about to take it, when he saw Morrigan smirk at him over her shoulder. He refused; he would get up the bank on his own. Shaking her head, Ishafel swung away and instead helped a struggling Alistair who, despite being a shemlen, was at least grateful.

After five minutes, Dylan was finally on the ledge beside Morrigan and she continued to speak as though there had never been a break in the conversation.

"I would go more often were it not for the town's Chantry. It makes the village particularly intolerant and unpleasant for a stranger such as me."

Dylan snorted in the middle of catching his breath and almost choked.

"A Chantry? And they never, in all this time thought that maybe you were a witch?"

Morrigan laughed. Dylan was briefly reminded of the iron wind chimes Wynne kept in her office window.

"Of course they have. They even called out their Templars once. They found nothing."

Ishafel, who had taken the lead, suddenly became very still. They all stopped moving.

"Ishafel..." he began.

She cut him off with a chop of her hand and motioned to some tree roots. It was a tight fit, but all four of them managed to crouch inside. Ishafel pulled out her bow, holding it snug against her ribs.

A few minutes later, what looked like the remains of a badly hit genlock raiding party stumbled into the clearing. There were only three of them. Ishafel nocked her arrow. A genlock died without ever knowing what hit it. Enraged, its brothers wheeled toward the tree roots, only to be frozen solid. Morrigan moved her hands quickly and then slung a ball of magic that solidified into a hefty rock through the creatures, shattering them on impact.

Brushing the dirt from her skin, she asked rather nonchalantly, "Shall we be underway?"

She continued to walk on without waiting for an answer.

"What are you skills exactly?" Ishafel asked, falling into step beside Morrigan

"I know a few spells, though I am nowhere near as powerful as mother. I have also studied history. And your Grey Warden treaties."

"Can you cook?" Dylan asked out of the blue.

Both women looked at him puzzled.

"I... can cook"

Whatever witty comment Dylan was about to make was cut off by Ishafel.

"Then you can substitute for Dylan, thank the creators."

Morrigan laughed and Ishafel shook her head, smiling slightly. The two of them continued forward.

"Right, my cooking will kill us all, that's what I meant."

But they were ignoring him now, chatting about poisons.

Was that normal girl talk?

The Wilds gave up their ground abruptly, changing suddenly from a scraggly marsh into a row of pine trees.

"This is a mark of a human settlement, we must be close."

"The road is but a ways from here," Morrigan confirmed.

About ten minutes later, the highland they were on was cleaved in two by a road. A city wall was a silhouette on the horizon. They jumped from the ledge on to the packed earth.

"Thank the Maker, no more tree roots." Dylan praised

"You ought build up you strength if mere tree roots were giving you problems" Ishafel admonished.

Dylan fought the urge to stick out his tongue at her. It wasn't as if he had spent his whole life in the woods. He was about to say that much when a sharp noise erupted from the treeline. There was a mottled shadow darting in out of the pines and a second later a large furry blob landed in front of them on the roadway.

"What in Andraste's name..?"

The creature uncoiled itself into a Mabari shape. He stood in their path and eyed them, then turned to the road ahead and let out a snarl.

"Wha-"

Darkspawn clamored over the ridge. With a booming bark, the dog threw itself snarling into the knot of enemies. There was really nothing they could do but follow. The raiding party was small, probably another group of stragglers from Ostagar, and they were felled with relative ease. When the killing was over and done, the dog left the corpses and trotted up to Ishafel, wagging his tail.

"Is that... the Mabari you went and got all muddy for?" Dylan questioned incredulously .

The dog barked happily.

"It stands to reason," Alistair concurred, "Once Mabari attach themselves to an owner, they'll follow them to the end of the world."

Ishafel bent down so that she was eye level with the creature, and stroked his head thoughtfully.

"Dalish do not keep dogs." she said hesitatingly, "I wouldn't know how to take care of you."

The dog gave a playful yip and swiped it's huge, rough tongue over the flat of her face.

"MMPH!" She toppled over backward in surprise. Dylan and Alistair both laughed,

"Well, then," Alistair said fondly, "It seems the fellow doesn't mind."

"He's not going to go away," Dylan added, chuckling still, "You remember what the kennel master said, yours for life."

Ishafel glared at the dog, who looked back adoringly enough that she softened. Climbing to her feet, she started walking, running a hand down his back as she passed by.

"Come on, Dog!"

He woofed in pleasure and bounded after her.

"Wait, wait," Alistair called after her, "You can't just call him Dog!"

"Why not?" She asked looking back at him, her nose wrinkling. "It's what he is."

"Well, it's not much of a name is it. How would you like it if we walked around calling you Elf all the time." Dylan pointed out.

Ishafel's eyes narrowed to slits, "You will _not_ address me as Elf."

He put up his hands as if warding off demons, "I didn't say I was going to!"

Alistair chuckled.

"He is right. Well, he's got the principal right. Mabari are a breed apart from the regular dogs. He deserves a name like everybody else."

She stopped to consider the creature, her right index finger resting at the side of her mouth in thought.

The dog looked up at her expectantly, his tail pounding the dirt.

"What does one call a Mabari?"

"Wolf?" Alistair suggested.

Ishafel frowned, "He's not a wolf. How is Wolf better than Dog?"

"Rufus?" He tried again.

The dog snarled.

"He doesn't like it."

"How about Mangy Mutt?" Morrigan suggested sarcastically.

The dog whined.

"I don't think so."

Dylan cringed. One day soon they were going to have that talk about sarcasm.

"Abeforth?" Alistair suggested.

"No."

"Sirius" Dylan said, reaching down scratching the mabari behind the ears, "You should call him Sirius."

"Oh!" Alistair said in recognition, "That's perfect!"

"Sirius? How is that any better than Abeforth?"

"You know, because of the story!" Alistair looked surprised. "You never heard the story?"

She gave him a caustic look. "I doubt Dalish lore and Shem lore are the same."

"It was a favorite in the tower when I was young," Dylan remembered wistfully.

He motioned them onward and they started at a leisurely pace toward the town as he started the tale.

"There once were two friends, a boy and a girl, Sirius and Leda. At a young age, they trained together for the local militia. But in the winter of their 18th year, Sirius was struck by a horrible disease that turned him blind and crippled. He had no family, so Leda looked after her friend and protected him from naysayers and those who meant to do him harm. She kept training and in time she became a fierce warrior. Soon a time of war came upon the country and every able body, both men and women, were asked to join in the fight. Leda's reputation was so great, the prince himself came to seek her aid. When she told Sirius she was going to war, he had a horrible premonition that she would die. He pleaded with her not to go, but she laughed at him. In desperation, he went in search of a witch who lived in the woods outside the village. He told her of Leda and begged for the power to protect her. The witch agreed to help him but warned him that the price he would have to pay was she would no longer know him, and that she would never love him the way he loved her."

Morrigan snorted, "What kind of a man would agree to a deal like that."

Dylan shrugged, "Yes, well, he agreed. Sirius disappeared. The whole village turned out to look for him to no avail. A few days later a stray Mabari wandered into the village and adopted Leda. She thought it was strange, for the war dogs usually had masters, but death was common in those days. She named him after her missing friend, Sirius. Unbeknown to Leda, the dog really was Sirius. The witch turned him into a Mabari, and his sight and limbs were restored. He was able to follow her to war and when death reared it's head, he was able to turn it aside."

The dog barked approval.

"They fought together for many years in that bloody war. One day, the prince came to a camp on the eve of a terrible battle. Leda overheard him say to the general that if the enemy commander could be taken out, the war would be over. She had fallen in love with the prince when he had first come to ask her to join the war. That very night she decided she would be the one to kill the enemy commander, as to prove herself to the prince."

"Idiot." Morrigan muttered.

"The next day when the battle started, she headed straight for the enemy commander, but was cut off from the rest of her troops. The prince, who was secretly in love with Leda himself, tried in vain to reach her. Only Sirius was able to break through the line. Just as the enemy commander was about to strike her down, he jumped between her and the sword, giving Leda the opening to cut off his head. But the sword pierced through his heart, and Sirius died instantly."

"What angle exactly, did he jump at?" Ishafel asked curious, "It seems unlikely that he could be stabbed through the heart while attacking."

"Leda never knew that the dog that had fought so hard to protect her was actually the young man who loved her. But the witch in the woods had actually been a spirit in disguise."

"Demons, not spirits, take human form. As a mage you should be aware of that." Morrigan pointed out.

"Let the man finish for the Maker's sake." Alistair replied archly.

"So impressed was she by his devotion that she placed his body among the stars, where it remains today as Cainus Major, the constellation 'The Dog'. The brightest star in the constellation is said to be his heart, constant and loyal to the bitter end."

"That..." Morrigan actually took a moment to think before continuing, "That was the most ridiculous story I have ever heard in my entire life."

Ishafel seemed to be considering the same, in actuality she was remembering blonde hair and tawny eyes. A man for who she might have done the very same thing Sirius had.

"Sirius?" She asked the dog.

He gave a great chuff of approval.

"Sirius it is then."

Morrigan shook her head. "So now we have a dog. And Alistair is still the dumbest member of the party."

Thankfully, the matter was settled just as they reached the stone arches of Lothering. A small town of little consequence was a nice way of putting it, Dylan decided.

The place was a hellhole.

He supposed that was a little unfair. It was obviously a nice little hamlet once, but it had been completely overrun by people fleeing the darkspawn. They were greeted by bandits, who Ishafel and the newly christened Sirius promptly made wish they were never born. After casing several wrecked carts, the group at last took a rest at the ramp entering the delightful little mud wallow.

"Here it is," Alistair sighed, "Lothering, as pretty as a picture."

"Ah" Morrigan sneered "At last you rejoin us. Was falling on your sword in grief too much trouble?

"Do you have any compassion at all? What you do if your mother died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right, very creepy."

"Enough, Morrigan, leave him be." Ishafel snapped.

"So what should we do now?" Alistair asked Dylan and Ishafel, they stood slightly off from himself and Morrigan. Ishafel leaned on the low wall, apparently thinking, while Dylan stared out over the crowd scratching behind Sirius' ear absentmindedly.

"Why are you asking us?" Ishafel replied, "You are the senior Grey Warden. Shouldn't we follow your lead?"

"I don't know! I mean..I've never done this before."

"Neither have I." Ishafel responded

"Well, that is a suggestive conversation when taken out of context," Dylan said, stalling the argument by confusing them both.

"None of us have ever done this before, so evaluating our options would probably be best. The treaties, have you read them?

Both Alistair and Morrigan nodded.

"Ishafel?"

"I... have not."

He handed her the scroll from his backpack. Her eyes roamed over the parchment, seeking.

After a minute, she looked up.

"You could not have possibly read all that it so a short time." Morrigan snapped.

"I could have." Ishafel shot back.

"Oh really? Then what, pray tell, does it say about dwarven troop allotment?"

"It says..." her voice trailed off and she looked down at her feet for a moment, when her eyes returned to the party they were haughty.

"Why would I know how to interpret Shemlen markings! I've spent the whole of my life protecting my people from them, not studying their culture!"

Alistair had a small look of astonishment akin to wonder on his face. He'd never doubted that she had finished the manuscript, even if it was a bit quick. She had a tendency to absolutely demolish whatever got in her way.

"You can't read? But don't the Dalish have scholars among them?"

"Of course, but they are selected for it at an early age. The rest of us do not learn."

"And they wonder why they are stuck wandering? Maybe they it's just because they cannot read the road signs." Morrigan snorted. Apparently she wasn't as understanding as Ishafel had once thought. She bristled, and opened her mouth to retort.

"Come now," Dylan cut off whatever acerbic reply she had been about to give. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

He had no intention of standing around all day arguing.

"Ishafel, do not worry about not knowing how to read, there are a fair amount of people who don't anyways. We will discuss the treaties. In the meantime, it's best if we find supplies, and what's been going on in the world."

Ishafel's jaw relaxed, "Agreed."

"Let's split into two groups. Ishafel, take Alistair to the Chantry, find out what's been happening in the week or so we've gone. Morrigan and I will look for merchants, see if we can't find someone to sell us food and gear for a week's journey or so."

"Look more for gear than food." Ishafel advised, "We can scavenge what we don't buy."

Morrigan crossed her arms, "Why should I go with you?"

To her surprise, Dylan laughed. "Would you rather go to the chantry with Alistair?

Her eyes archly swept the former templar.

"I thought not."

Ishafel strode toward the chantry purposely. She was halfway there before Alistair realized she was gone. "Hey! Wait!"

Sirius looked at Dylan and Morrigan, gave a rough bark, and bounded after elf and templar.

Dylan watched them go. Morrigan tapped her foot impatiently.

"Shall we go? Or are you going to stare after Ishafel's backside for the rest of the day."

It was a poor zinger, he had heard much worse. He colored anyway.

"Must you be so unpleasant?" he asked as they walked down the stairs towards what looked to be a heavily laden merchant's cart. The town couldn't be that poor off, not if they were willing to allow a merchant to leave with so many supplies.

"You told me to speak my mind and I am speaking it." She answered bitingly. "Would you prefer I'd talk about the weather?"

"How did you become a shape-changer?"

She looked at him sidelong.

"I was not born such. 'Tis a skill of Flemeth taught over many years in the Wilds. The Chasind have tales of we witches, saying we assume the forms of creatures to watch them from hiding. When a child is alone and separate from his tribe, that is when we strike, dragging the young boy kicking and screaming to our lair to be devoured." Her lips twisted into not quite a smile. "A most amusing legend."

"But it is just a legend right?

She shrugged.

"So I assume. My mother has walked the Wilds far longer than I. Who am I to say what she has and hasn't done?"

She fixed him with a curious eye.

"Why do you ask about shape-changing? Is there something specific you wish to know?"

"Can anyone become a shape-changer?"

"Any mage with sufficient will."

Dylan pondered on this.

"That's all I wanted to ask."

"Indeed? Have you an opinion on my abilities, then? Am I an unnatural abomination to be put to the torch."

There was screeching coming from the cart.

Dylan sighed inwardly, why couldn't anything be simple?

"Actually," He said, gearing up for a verbal battle with the chantry sister,"I think your abilities sound quite useful."

Morrigan was promptly struck dumb. "Oh," She replied, trying very hard to hide the surprise and pleasure in her voice, "What a funny little man you are."

Dylan shot her a smile before dealing with the annoyance before him.

The walk to the chantry was not long, but Ishafel kept her pace slow anyway. Alistair had once again become silent. A trait she was sure was not normal for him.

In a way, she understood. He was mourning Duncan, in the same way she had mourned Tamlen.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" She asked, her voice was low but he managed to hear her.

"You don't have to do that."

He sounded uncomfortable.

"You didn't know him as long as I did."

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his loss."

The grief that broke though his facade was palpable.

"I should have handled it better. He warned me, right from the beginning that this could happen. Any of of us could die in battle. I shouldn't have lost it, not when so much is riding on us. Not with the Blight and... everything. I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize..."

She stopped, and then started again. "I miss him as well."

"I'd like to have a service, once this is all said and done."

There was slight quiver in his voice. Belatedly, Ishafel wondered if shems believed a crying man cowardly. He was fighting so hard to hold it in.

"What- what do the Dalish do when someone dies?"

A memory flashed in Ishafel's eyes. A forest. A sapling. Mournful song.

"We bury the dead, and plant a tree over their remains."

"That's quiet beautiful, actually."

It was the easy way to explain it. Alistair would not understand the meaning of the rituals, or the words spoken over the grave. But he would understand the tree.

She had not been able to stay for the planting of Tamlen's sapling. Or to sit vigil with his body.

But then, there had been no body to sit vigil with. A deep longing for home, For the sounds of the halla lowing and familiar faces of clan swept over her.

"He said once that he was from Highever. Maybe I'll go there when this is all over. Though, he had no family."

"He had you."

"I suppose he did." Alistair sounded surprised at the finality in her voice. Shems, humans, seem to have a different concept of family than elves. If they hunted with you, slept in your camp, took the meal with you, defend those you loved from harm. They were clan, family, blood or not.

"Ishafel" She was slightly ahead of him now, her face wedged in a frown. The yelling from the chantry was boarding on hysteric. She checked her knife. His hand on her shoulder was unexpected. She looked up into his face to see his eyes were over bright, although there were no races of tears.

"Thank you."

She nodded gravely.

Sirius growled softly at her side and she turned her attention back to the shouting.

Even shemlen had the right to mourn.


	11. Part 2: Chapter 2: The Priestess and

Part 2: Fear and Lothering

Chapter 2: The Priestess and The Prisoner

"Are we here to solve everyone's problems?"

Morrigan was getting on Dylan's very last nerve. It was giving him a roaring headache.

'I couldn't have just walked the other way when Jowan asked his ridiculous favor?' He thought to himself.

He didn't really mean it, but he would gladly shut himself up in a tower if it would get him away from her insistent complaining. The merchant whose profiteering he had summarily ended, much to her displeasure, had barely anything of use. And why did she care anyway?

He leaned against the Chantry gate, waiting for Ishafel and Alistair. The town was overrun with people fleeing the darkspawn. Ishafel's face looked absolutely grim as she walked out of the Chantry, but it was Alistair that spoke.

"Which would you like first? The good news or the bad news?"

"Loghain has been telling people the Grey Wardens killed the king." Ishafel spoke before he could answer.

"Wha-What?" He choked on his own tongue for a moment.

"He's taken up regency in your capital. He has made us out-of-your-laws."

"It's outlaws" Alistiar corrected

Sirius whined, Dylan felt like joining him. This was going to complicate things.

"At least the Templar Commander of this area gave us enough for a few days journey." Alistair said positively, hoisting a pack forward.

"It'll stretch if we forage. We shouldn't tarry here." Ishafel seconded, "The sooner we get back to wood and field the better."

"We still need to decide where to go. Did you hear anything of value?"

"Just places that have been overrun." Ishafel held herself, "There are more than you might think."

Now wasn't that a sobering thought? All at once, Dylan didn't want to be here. Not Lothering, not even outside his tower. A great choking fear clawed up his throat and rendered him silent. The world was so large and they were so small. How could they possibly do anything?

"Dylan? Dylan, are you alright?"

There was a snowflake like hand on his arm and he looked down into Ishafel's concerned, tattooed face.

"We should find some place to rest." she told Alistair and Morrigan, her eyes not leaving his face.

From the concern on her face, he must have turned some terrible color, probably puce.

"There is an inn near by." Morrigan pointed out, motioning toward it with a flick of her wrist "Is that not where people rest and exchange news?"

It was clear when they arrived that Dane's Refuge was being taken up on it's name. The people in residence were all refugees, and there were so many they were spilling out on to the street. Whole families huddled in the dirt.

"Might not want to go in there." A man standing by the side of the pub mumbled, "Loghain's men causing trouble, looking for Grey Wardens."

"Wardens, you say?"

"Aye, causing more trouble than they're stopping."

It was overcrowded as expected, but room had been cleared around two men in the center. It was clear they were drunk. Between themselves they had a young elven girl, not more than 16 winters. She struggled against them, but they only laughed at her.

Ishafel's eyes lit up with anger.

"Loghain's men," Alistair whispered in her ear, "It would be best to be cautious, if we play our cards right they might not realize..."

Ishafel strode towards the men purposefully, causing people to scamper out of the way.

"Or we could just charge in breathing fire and brimstone, and give away ourselves away to upward of 60 people." He muttered to the air where she had just stood.

"Wha' you want? Wanna join in, wenchie?" One of them grinned at her lewdly. Once his eyes met her face however, it turned into a puzzled frown. "Hey, Horace. I- I think it's her."

"What are goin' on about, Jasper? Who's 'her'? Your mum?"

"You idiot, the knife ear we've been asking about all bleedin' day. The one nobody'd bleedin' seen."

The two men scrambled to their feet. The girl was tossed aside with a cry.

Even drunk, the men would be hard to take down in close quarters, Ishafel thought to herself. She wondered if she could slit the throat of the first one before the second fell on her.

"Traitorous bitch."

Well, that was quite enough pleasantries with the enemies for one day, Dylan decided recovering from his fear induced state.

"Do watch you tongues, gentlemen. You wouldn't want us to cut them out, would you?"

He got that line from a hero in the adventure novel Surana had read to him when they were children. He had always thought the hero was a bombastic prick, but a good threat was a good threat, no matter where it came from.

The Soldiers were not frightened in the least.

Dylan frowned.

Did he not look threatening enough in his magus robes? Maybe he ought to acquire armor or something?

They stepped towards Ishafel. Sirius, who had gone unnoticed, was suddenly at Ishafel's calf, letting out a warning snarl. The people in the inn began to slowly back towards the walls, not wanting to be involved in the upcoming fight.

Except for one. A Chantry sister, no less.

"Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt more poor souls seeking refuge from the darkspawn."

"They're more than that, Sister, now out of our way. You protect them, you'll get the same as these traitors."

"I would get out of the way if I were you, miss." Dylan told the Chantry mouse politely. A terse situation was no call to be rude to a lady after all.

"It looks like he wants a fight, I'm happy to oblige." Ishafel added.

More men stood up as she reached for her blades. Beside her Sirius coiled himself, ready to strike.

"Right then," Jasper said, only an inkling of trepidation in his voice."We'll make this quick."

And with that, all hell broke loose.

The Sister surprisingly was the quickest on the draw. She would have beaten Ishafel if her hand hadn't already been on her blade. Sirius rammed forward, taking down a man at Ishafel's right. In a truly savage movement, he ripped out his throat. Ishafel launched herself at Jasper, circling under his guard and silting his throat. She waited for the blow of the sword of the other solider, but found to her surprise the sister had beaten him off.

Dylan summarily ended the fight by soundly shocking two charging soldiers. Alistair stood at the ready in case it was not enough. The two men dropped to the floor, writhing in their very metallic armor.

The rest of the soldiers stared in horror.

Nobody was dumb enough to want to make a mage angry.

Dylan smirked, perhaps he would forgo the plate mail.

"Stop, stop!" Horace shouted, "We surrender."

"Good." The Sister said, satisfied. It had not escaped Ishafel that her blows were defensive only. A pacifist. She was reminded reluctantly of Keeper Marethari.

"They've learned there lesson and we can all stop fighting now."

"They aimed to butcher us! They deserve no mercy!" Ishafel protested in disgust.

"But they were no match for you."

Dylan was not quite sure he understood.

"They tried to kill us, Sister." He restated. Surely she thought they should get some punishment. Even the Chantry had soldiers to punish the wrong, or in the case of mages, those they suspected would do wrong at some unspecified date.

"But they failed, and I do not wish death on anyone."

The last time someone had begged Ishafel for mercy, she had not given it. She did not know why she felt inclined to let them go, it may have been the unforeseen consequences of last time. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She'd much rather kill them and be done with it.

"Fine. They should leave and quickly." she spat, and Sirius growled low in his throat.

"But not before they agree to take a message to Loghain."

"W-what do you want to tell him?" Horace stuttered. Jasper lay dead at his feet.

"He'll have to do better than this."

"I'll tell him! Right away! Now!"

Horace and his remaining men ran.

The Sister smiled at them.

"I apologize for interfering, but I couldn't sit by and not help."

"So we see." Dylan said to the strange young woman with a smile. "And where does a Sister learn to fight like that?"

She grinned.

"I wasn't born in the Chantry you know, some of us had more...colorful lives before joining. Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or I was."

"And is there something you want from us, Leliana?" Ishafel didn't know much about the Chantry, but she knew that no human did a good deed without expecting reward. She paused in thought; with the possible exception of Dylan. He had never told her why he saved her life.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment.

"You are Grey Wardens, yes? You fight darkspawn because that is what you do. I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

Ishafel gawped. Well, she would certainly would not consider that a reward.

Neither would Dylan, "Why so eager to come with us, miss?"

"Leliana" she replied with a shy smile. He fought the urge to return the favor; he was a sucker for a woman with a pretty smile.

"The Maker told me to."

Insanity was a turn off.

"Can you... elaborate?"

She looked at the four faces full of disbelief and the dog with his head cocked to the side in curiosity and faltered

"I-I know that sounds.. absolutely insane- but it's true! I had a dream... a vision!"

Alistair's gaze drifted between Morrigan and Ishafel. "More crazy?" he muttered, raising a joking eyebrow at Dylan, "I thought we were full up."

Leliana pursed her lips.

"Look at the people here. They are lost in their despair and this darkness, this chaos will spread. The Maker doesn't want this. What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work. Let me help!"

"You feel sorry for the people?" Dylan chided gently, "Help them here."

She snorted. "Then what? What happen when the horde comes? It will follow anywhere we flee until all we know is destroyed."

"Then join us," Ishafel snapped distractedly, "If you would fight them."

Her attention was on the elven girl who she thought needed saving. The girl had gotten up, brushed herself off and solicited another group of men. She was nothing but a common trollop.

Morrigan who had been silent all this time, managed to work up some righteous indignation.

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than mother thought!"

Leliana positively beamed.

"Thank you! I appreciate being given this chance. I will not let you down."

Dylan looked at Ishafel with a pained expression on his face, and sighed. At least she was pretty, the last thing he needed was an elderly hag spouting platitudes to the Maker, like Wynne. Pretty at least he could work with.

Ishafel shouldered her way through the crowd that had already spread out over the inn. Shems,why on earth would anyone want to associate in a place so small? After a moment of jostling she reached her destination. Snatching the waifs elbow, she smoothly manhandled her to the wall.

"You don't seem like the type who would want to tumble a girl like me, lady." her tone was mocking, but held grudging respect, and even a bit of disappointment.

"You let those men paw on you as though are nothing! Do you not have any respect for yourself, your lineage?

The girl shrugged. "Lineage doesn't put food in the mouth of me or my young one."

"You have a youngling? What must he think of his mother?"

"He doesn't have to think anything," She snapped angrily, "He eats the food I give him."

Ishafel's eyes scanned the haughty angry face, and she sighed.

"Should you ever tire of this life. Head to the Brecillain. If there are any of my kin left in the woods, they will find you in a few minutes. Tell them Mahariel Ishafel sent you." She tossed the girl a token from her belt.

The girl turned the flat disc over in he palm twice before pocketing it.

"If you are planning to go, go quickly. The Dalish are leaving this land."

She did not meet Ishafel's eyes as she returned to the table.

Shem idiot.

Ishafel returned to her group, which had taken over the table that Loghain's soldiers were occupying.

"Now what?"

"Well, Arl Eamon is sick, maybe even dying. Nobody has heard anything in a few days." Alistair's voice was despairing.

"If he dies, then what happens?"

"His son, Connor, would take the Arlship. But a ten year old won't have much of a voice in the Landsmeet."

"We should head for my people. If we do not hurry, they will all have gone." Ishafel suggested avidly, ignoring Alistair.

"The Dwarves in Orzammar are unreachable at the moment," Leliana informed them, "A traveling merchant said their king had died."

"The mages are unchangeable. The world could be falling to pieces and they'd still shut themselves

up in tower." Dylan snorted, "No need to rush there."

"Fine, so the Dalish or Redcliffe?" Ishafel asked, she already knew where she wanted to go. It must have been fairly obvious.

Alistair cleared his throat.

"Pardon me for saying, But the Dalish don't exactly have clout in the Landsmeet."

"The what?"

"The Landsmeet," Leliana explained, "It is a meeting of all the land holders and nobles in Ferleden who decide policy."

"And probably our best bet for getting rid of Loghain."

"How far is this Redcliffe?" Ishafel asked.

"About five or six days west on foot, if we stick to the main roads, which we don't want to do if Loghain has men looking for us, Seven or eight days through the woods,"Alistair told her. Ishafel and Morrigan both snorted simultaneously.

"You mean for someone who doesn't know how to navigate woodlands."

"It's in the opposite direction of the Brecillan. The Dalish could have gotten as far as the Free Marches by then."

"Highly unlikely, camps with women and children." Ishafel shot him a look at the word woman, "Laden down with gear and trappings. Even the Dalish couldn't move that quickly"

"Plus the Arl has runners, we could send an envoy to the Dalish from Denerim. They would be closer than we would be at that point." Dylan added, studying the map strewn on the table.

"Any Dalish camp with any hope of survival would shoot down any shems in the area before asking questions. It has to be me who approaches them."

"We could send elves, they would be less likely to attack."

"It. Will. Not. Work." She said it very clearly just in case Alistair and Dylan were having hearing problems.

"We are not equipped for the Brecillan and there is no guarantee of what we may find. We may be there days just looking, Eamon could have died by then."

Ishafel sat back in her chair arms crossed.

"If Arl Eamon dies before we get there, we lose our support in the Landsmeet and any hope of human allies in one fell stroke."0

Dylan leaned across the table, his amber eyes were molten and boring into her. Ishafel sighed. He was right; however badly she wanted to see her people right now would have to take a back seat.

"It's settled then, We go to Redcliffe." Leliana said delightedly, as if they had been discussing a pleasure cruise. She paused, thoughtful. "Although we aren't much equipped for that either, but Terrance," she motioned to a man leaning on a strongbox and talking, perhaps flirting, with a young initiate, "Says that a Dwarven merchant just passed through; if we are quick we may catch him not to far from here."

They rose and Leliana's Terrance hurried over to meet them.

"Hail and well met, Grey Wardens! That was a fantastic show you put on! Brilliant! You as well, Leliana!" He gave he a winning smile before continuing, "I represent a group called the Blackstone Irregulars and I wonder... since it seems as though you may be traveling-"

"Eavesdropping, were you?" Ishafel muttered dryly

"If you might not mind doing a few tasks for us... Our unit is too small to lose people right now, and traveling warriors like yourselves are a boon."

"How much does it pay?" Dylan asked conversationally

"Do you really think we have time for this?" Ishafel hissed in his ear.

"We can barely afford supplies for the journey to Redcliffe. Extra income never hurt anybody, and coin will help in cities like Denerim, I'm sure."

She humphed behind him. "Small bits of metal? Why would anyone find that valuable?"

For the first time, Dylan shot her a caustic look. Even Ishafel wasn't that naive. In the end it was decided that they should take the jobs. Armed with three missives and directions, they returned to their travels. Lothering, two or three weeks ago may have been able to pass itself off as a charming little country hamlet, but walking through it now, its streets were rank with chaos and despair. It was hard to look at and it was hard to move quickly. Good deeds in a desperate place tend to bring the hopeless in droves; everyone, even Leliana, was short on nerves by the time they reached the end of the village.

That was when she saw him.

A great iron cage hung on a great iron hook, suspended only slight above the ground. There was no room to move in it, or even to sit, but the man seemed not to care. His deep bass voice lifted and dropped in words she did not understand, but she recognized the rhythm and the way each chant ended in 'qun. He was praying. Ishafel stopped in front of the cage. Dylan kept going, purposefully, until Sirius gave a bark. He turned to see the rest of the party drifting back to Ishafel. They were never going to catch that merchant at this rate.

He was tall, head and shoulders taller than Ishafel, with skin the color of stone darkened by fire. He stood in a warrior's stance, and chanted for a moment more before opening bloodshot eyes to stare at her with scorn.

"You aren't one of my captors."

His voice was slightly hoarse. He must have been chanting for a long time.

"I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace."

She bristled at his tone.

"You're a prisoner? Who put you here?"

"I'm in a cage am I not? I've been placed here by the Chantry."

Leliana spoke from behind Ishafel.

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered an entire family. Even the children."

Her dark eyes grew wide in her pale face.

"It is as she said."

Oh, creators...even the shem children...

The creature-man looked down at Ishafel, locking eyes as though he was trying to make sense of her. It was an uncomfortable feeling and he looked away after a moment, staring out into the fields of Lothering.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad- the vanguard—of the Qunari peoples."

"I am Ishafel. Pleased to me you."

There was a gawping sound behind her,

"You know when she met me, she insulted me." Alistar said to Leliana, "She meets a self-professed murder and she's all smiles and good manners."

Morrigan smiled snidely, "Perhaps it's is because she is meeting someone with better manners than you."

Sten ignored them. He looked at Ishafel with narrowed eyes "You mock me." He accused, but there was no malice in her face. He shifted uneasily, rocking the cage. "Or you show me manners I have come not to expect in your lands. Though it matters little, now. I will die soon enough."

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone." Morrigan suggested over her shoulder.

"Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that from you." Alistair replied, surprised

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage."

"Yes, that's what I _would_ have expected."

The Qunari looked as though he was developing a headache.

"I suggest you leave me to my fate."

Ishafel cocked her head to the side, "Are you guilty?"

"Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer.

"However I feel, Whatever I've done, my life is forfeit now."

The stoicism in his voice tugged at her. She knew how that felt ever since she had met Duncan at the mirror. Sickness or service, nothing would ever be the same, and she felt sympathy rather than pity.

"If you feel guilty about the murder, why did you do it?"

"Either you have a enviable memory or a pitiable life to know nothing of regret."

"Aren't you interested in seeking atonement?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her, really looked. A well armed elf in human lands, he was beginning to wonder who exactly this annoying woman was.

"Death will be my atonement."

"There are other ways to redeem yourself" she replied.

"Perhaps. What does your wisdom say is equal to my crime?"

"We are on a quest of great importance..."

He scoffed. "Importance is a matter of perspective. From here, very little seems meaningful."

"You could help us defend the land against a Blight."

Now she had his attention.

"The Blight? Are you Grey wardens then?"

"Why do you ask?"

"My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill... though I suppose not every legend is true."

"Would the Revered Mother let you free?"

"Perhaps if you told her the Grey Wardens require my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

Leliana shook her head. "To be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn... no one deserves that, not even a murderer."

"What did I miss, then?" Dylan asked jogging over to the party.

"It's settled, we go to the Chantry."

"What!"

They were never going to catch that merchant.


	12. Part 2: Chapter 3: Prisoner Exchange

_Author's note: Well, this chapter took a very, very long time to write. Then I had to revise it six or seven times. Then it was sent off to my wonderful beta, and then revised again. On the plus side, at least I can say this is the best possible version of this chapter you will get (although if you can think of any improvement don't hesitate to tell me). One of the reasons this took so long to write is that I loathe Lothering, it's my least favorite part of the game. I hope it doesn't show too much in the writing. Sorry in advance for all the dialogue too. As always reviews are loved, cherished and rewarded with faster updates! Enjoy!_

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Part 2: Fear and Lothering

Chapter 3: Prisoner Exchange

Ishafel tried her best not to at the packed in refugees. She did not understand humans.

Why would anyone trying to survive huddle inside a dank stone building until darkspawn came?

Even the flat ears she had spoken to on the way into town had more sense than that. It must be a human thing. Alistair, Dylan and Leilana seemed to think it perfectly reasonable.

Ishafel tended to agree with Morrigan's exasperated sighs whenever one of the three made a pitying remark.

"Ishafel, don't get distracted." Dylan muttered at her as she fell behind, "This was your idea in the first place..."

His mumbles fell beyond the range of human hearing, although Sirius whined after a moment.

"A man's life is at stake, this is not the time to play the part of a da'len," she told him loftily. "a child."

She strode ahead of him with newfound purpose.

The reverend mother sat apart from the initiates and priests working to calm the populace. Unlike every other room this one, though fairly large, was empty of the clawing refugees. Typical human behavior. Help, but only so much that you are not inconveniencing yourself.

The woman resembled a statue, sitting alone in a high-backed wooden chair while the rest of the chantry was in a constant flurry of motion. Her eyes fixed on Leliana after a minute. Her face lit with surprise and a flash of hope that flitted away so fast Dylan did not have time to wonder what it was there for.

"Hello, Sister Leliana. I did not expect to see you so soon. I thought you would be far from Lothering by now."

Leliana smiled, "As did I, but the Maker had other plans. It is good to see you as well, your reverence."

"I do not recognize your companions. Greetings." the warmth in her voice bled away, turning it businesslike. "Will you be making a donation to our Chantry? Our need has never been greater."

"A tithe? To a human Chantry?" Ishafel snorted in disbelief. "Surely you must be joking!"

"A great number of people could be fed and clothed for a faction of your finery!" the mother snapped, raining in what could have been a shout.

"Ishafel!" Dylan admonished. "What are you saying?"

"You cannot possibly expect me to support the religion that waged war on my people and drove us from our homeland?" She turned to look up at him, chin slightly tilted.

"Any money to the chantry goes to the people suffering here! You can't possibly expect to apply old grudges to the needs of those suffering now!"

"Do not speak to me about suffering..." she snapped, "You know little of it."

Dylan's face reddened, "You know little of ME, Ishafel Mahariel! Do not tell me of my own past!"

Ishafel looked away, at the stained glass lighting the room, the flagstones on the floor, anywhere but Dylan.

"Do as you will."

"What would be acceptable, your reverence?"

"30 silvers would be the normal sum."

Dylan highly doubted it. That sum could feed half the town for months. She was trying to milk them, he was sure. He wondered how much of that money would get to the people of Lothering before the Darkspawn came. He was careful not to let his annoyance show on his face. He had a funny feeling Ishafel would never let him live it down.

"My apologies, we can only spare 10 silvers."

Her angry, wrinkled face relaxed into a smile, "One out of one, is far better than one from one thousand. Is there something else I can do for you?"

"We've come to speak to you about Sten, the Qunari you have caged." Ishafel said icily.

The Reverend Mother rose from her seat at the word 'Qunari' but upon standing, she found she had no place to go was reduced to pacing restlessly. "It might have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker." Her eyes slid away from Dylan and Ishafel to rest on Leliana. "Why does he interest you?

"Is there any way we can convince you to release him?" Ishafel asked. She looked back at her in distain.

"Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers!"

"You misunderstand us, your reverence." Dylan replied in a soft, even tone. "We would like you to release him into out custody. We are Grey Wardens and believe that he might be of use in stopping the Blight. Our travels will take him far from here, and his only victims will be darkspawn."

"Ah yes, the knight commander told me there were Wardens in Lothering." She paused in thought. "And what do you say on this, Leliana? You know your friends better than I."

"These are... unusual times. With us, the Qunari might do some good. I am sure of it, in fact."

"Were things not so desperate..." She stopped her pacing and gave Dylan a curious sidelong glance,

"Perhaps we can make a trade..."

He sighed inwardly, why couldn't things ever be easy? You know people saying I trust you? Just handing you the key?

"The town has been beset by groups of bandits these last few days. They are terrorizing the townsfolk and refugees alike. If you were to drive them off, I would consider releasing him to you."

"Done." Ishafel stated, turning on her heel to walk out of the place.

"You need to learn some manners," Dylan remarked, finally catching up to her as she crossed the threshold of the chantry and headed towards the courtyard gate.

"Excuse me?" she barked in surprise

"What good does it do to insult the person you're trying to get to help you? We were lucky we had Leliana with us, or I doubt she would have even considered it."

"She needed us, she would have come around eventually."

"How were you to know that?" He scoffed "Didn't your mother ever tell you, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

"_My_ mother would wholeheartedly disagree with that statement." Morrigan butted in, earning her a scowl.

"And look what a beloved individual you are." Alistair quipped sarcastically.

"My mother would hardly care what I did, she certainly didn't care enough to raise me." the beads around her neck hung a little heavier. "Those who did taught me never to trust the human Chantry. Ever." her eye narrowed to slits. "After what they were willing to do to you, I would think you would share that opinion."

"Maybe I do, but it's not helpful to go waving them about at the moment."

She continued walking, "We have a job to do. We do not have time to squabble all day."

Dylan had to concede that point. Grumbling, he made to follow her, only to almost slam smack into her when she stopped at the bridge.

She was looking down bemusedly at a small red headed child who was standing rather uncertainly in the middle of the road.

"Have you seen my mother?" the boy questioned. He didn't seem the least bit afraid to see a heavily armed elf in front of him.

Ishafel had seen a great many humans today, more than she'd ever cared to see.

"That depends, who is your mother?"

The desperate tone of the youngling's voice did not escape her as he answered.

"She's really tall and has red hair" he told her eagerly, "We live on a big farmhold, all of us. Some mean men with swords came; mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could. So I did! She said she'd be right behind me, but I've been waiting and waiting and I can't see her!"

A coldness uncoiled in Ishafel's gut.

"Do you know where your father is?" she asked him, quietly hoping that she would not have to be the one to explain the reason his mother was not coming over the rise.

"He went with William to the neighbor's yesterday but he didn't come back."

The boy turned to look into the distance, as if his mother were just about to come over the hill, as if it was all just some awful nightmare.

Dylan felt sorry for the poor boy. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

"I don't think she's coming..." He said somberly.

The boy looked at him with such unabashed hatred that startled him. Ishafel gave him a look.

"NO! My mother would _never_ leave me!"

He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I don't think she meant to..."

He looked up at Dylan, uncertain. He was going to continue looking, Ishafel could tell. Creators forbid whatever got his mother came after him too.

"Come with me. I'll help you look for your mother." Ishafel offered.

They boy shook his head resolutely. "Mother said I wasn't supposed to go with anyone. I'm supposed to wait for her here in the village."

"Go to the chantry, child. Someone will look after you there." Dylan told him, the boy looked at Ishafel, and she nodded in agreement.

"I will. But only if I don't find mother first." the boy turned big doe eyes up at Ishafel. "So, um...are you really an elf?"

She frowned, "Yes, da'len. Why do you ask?"

"Father says elves aren't very nice. But you're nicer than everybody here. Thank you for helping me."

He started purposely towards the chantry. Dylan looked at the little boy with exasperation. Oh sure, he'd offered no comfort at all. Ishafel started forward and Dylan looked up at her with the same feeling.

"I don't understand you."

"That's obvious."

"I'm sure even Alistair knew that much." Morrigan purred smarmily. Alistair nodded in agreement, only a second later realizing the veiled insult.

"Hey!"

Dylan just ignored them.

"How can you spit on a whole institution, a whole belief system, a whole race of people and then be kind and forthcoming when it comes to select individuals?"

Ishafel crossed her arms and raised an impatient eyebrow.

"He was a da'len, a child who had lost his mother. What kind of monster do you take me for?"

Dylan quieted as she started forward again.

He had known templars that were absolutely abysmal to the small children who came to the tower, in tears from being ripped from home and kin. Sometimes, they did even worse. Sometimes they made it so you could never go home again.

After all, it was a templar that had killed Surana.

It was a templar that killed his mother.

But Cullen was a templar. Cullen, who didn't have a malicious bone in his body and Jowan, fellow mage, the man who he thought was his best friend, had left him to be slaughtered.

He pondered over that piece of information while they walked into the fields, and was still pondering when an arrow whizzed past his ear.

"Remind me how sulking whilst bandits fire arrows at you prevents harm?" Morrigan snapped, slamming her stave into the earth. The bandits were knocked of their feet by the resulting quake. Sirius took advantage. His lithe form disappeared into the high stalks of wheat. A horrible snapping sound followed. A few minutes later, following a terrific battle cry by Alistair; really where did that man get the energy to scream in battle? It was over. Ishafel inspected the bodies clinically, stripping the fallen of all useful trappings.

"Scouts," she noted, crouchingto better see the path they had come from.

"The tracks lead down to the river."

The rest the afternoon consisted of a hack and slash free-for-all, in which the bandits, a local family of giant spiders, and a pack of wolves went to meet the Maker. Just as Ishafel slit the throat of the last man in the latest group, they heard screaming in the distance.

"Help! Somebody help! Darkspawn!"

"That came from the highway!" Alistair shouted, motioning to the forms of two figures on the bridge. Alistair and Ishafel slammed themselves into the darkspawn, using the momentum from sprinting toward the bridge, beating them back. Leliana pinned down a group of reinforcements, arrows creating a heavy black rain. Morrigan and Dylan froze and shattered in tandem, until at last there was nothing left to fight.

"Well, thank goodness, you came along when you did." The speaker was a stocky blonde dwarf.

"We would have been dead for sure, we would have. Thank the kind folk, m'boy.

A younger, blonder version of the man looked up at Dylan and Ishafel with too bright eyes.

"Thank you, kind ladies."

Dylan and the older dwarf balked simultaneously.

Leliana laughed from behind her hand, even Morrigan smiled.

Ishafel let out a low chuckle that caught Dylan off guard. He had never heard her laugh before.

"Well, I suppose I'm getting a little shaggy" he mused, fingers pulling absently on a long lock of hair that curved gracefully by his collarbone under his chin.

"Oh, he don't mean anything by it," the dwarf said hastily, "He's a bit soft in the head you see."

"It's quite alright," Leliana spoke for him, "I'm sure Dylan has a sense of humor just like the rest of us."

'She wouldn't be smiling half as wide if he had mistook her for a man' he brooded inwardly. Still, one had to put the best face forward...

And he supposed in the grand scheme of things it really was funny.

"Bodan Feddic's the name," the older dwarf introduced himself, "And this is my son, Sandal. We were on our way to Denreim when those creatures overtook us."

"So you are the dwarven merchant who they spoke of at the inn!" Leliana exclaimed, "See, Dylan, we managed to catch him! You worry too much!"

The woman obviously had issues, he thought glowering at her. It turned out that the darkspawn had spoiled most of Bodan's goods.

Ishafel shook her head. "We'll have to forage then, it may make the going slower but we don't have much of a choice."

Dylan had foraged with Duncan just once on the trip to Ostagar and almost poisoned himself twice.

Well, there was no time like the present to learn what those plants in his books looked like.

Bodan kindly rejected his offer of safe passage to the next town, Dylan rather suspected it was more due to having to share his rations than the dwarf's assertions that they were too dangerous to travel with.

Ishafel gracefully descended the stone stairs of the main highway. Daylight was threatening twinkle out and the Qunari was no closer to being freed.

Perhaps Dylan was right, this was a waste of time, but they had come so far already, it seemed a pity to stop now. The last of the bandits had been boxed in at the edge of the river.

Sirius whined at her, the whine morphing into a growl as a small, ragged looking group of Mabari descended on them. She nocked an arrow only to have the dog explode into flames in front of her.

Dylan strode out to greet his attackers and it struck Ishafel that he was really quite irritated.

She made a promise to herself never to get him that annoyed with her ever. Two of their arrow firing opponents exploded in a mixture of fire and lightning. A third tried to sneak up behind behind him, there was a hmpf from Morrigan as a stonefist exploded into his back, sending him flying. Yipping like a puppy, Sirius dashed forward to yank out the man's throat.

Dylan stood in the middle of the bloody mess and absently stretched the muscles in his neck.

"What a splendid way to work off frustration."

Ishafel smiled in spite of herself.

"You can't cook or forage and like to give away our coin, thank the creators you enjoy carnage or you wouldn't be useful at all."

It should have been a barb, but it didn't sound like one and Dylan couldn't help but return her grin.

"Well, I hope I'm tactful enough for the two of us..."

"Don't forget Alistair," Morrigan added in a syrupy voice that put the former templar on the defensive.

"I am plenty tactful!"

"Well now," Leliana exclaimed, heaving the lid off of some crates the bandits had been protecting, "What do we have here?"

The crates were filled to the brim with small, tightly packed ration kits.

"They must have raided an army supply train." She commented as they stuffed as much as they could into their packs. "We should tell the templars at the Chantry, they could use this to help the townsfolk."

"Why not tell Mother Miriam?" Ishafel asked in accusing tone.

Dylan sighed.

Leliana simply looked startled, as though the idea had never occurred to her.

"I suppose we could," She said after a moment, "But the townsfolk can't necessarily defend themselves from the hordes of the hungry, hmm... the chantry might be better this time.

"Defend themselves? They are giving out food! What would they have to defend themselves from?"

"Half the refugees looked starved, some probably haven't eaten for days, the mere mention of food might cause them to swarm." Alistair pointed out. "People are always greedy when it comes to survival, not that you could blame them."

"That's ridiculous; a Dalish would never behave that way."

"Well these people aren't exactly Dalish." He shrugged

Ishafel let out a "ha" under her breath, but in the end it was decided that Chantry should be alerted to the crates. Hiding them under brush and loam, they headed back over the fields to Lothering.

Sirius suddenly let out a sharp snarl and fell back on his haunches.

"Sirius?"

There was a guff followed by a short roar and a bear, at least it looked like a bear, tumbled out from the grass, snapping the tall stalks.

Ishafel shifted uneasily, pulling her bow from her back as the bear bayed and bounded towards them.

Something was wrong, bears didn't attack like this.

Her skin began to burn, a steady acerbic itch that seemed to get stronger as the bear approached.

"Maker! It's tainted!" Alistair drew his sword.

Sirius darted in front of Ishafel, avoiding a swipe from a paw, clamping his teeth down hard upon it.

Alistair's sword penetrated through the shoulder and the bear gnashed its teeth, trying to swing around towards him.

Dylan gave the bear a nasty shock that didn't seem to register and he had to scramble out of the way to avoid a hole where is belly used to be. Ishafel used the distraction to draw two arrows from her quiver. As the creature desperately tried to fend off Sirius and Alistair, she swung up her bow and pulled them back toward her ear.

"Forgive me, brother. It is for the good of us all." she loosed the string

The arrows punched through poor creature's skull. Simultaneously, he fell over dead.

They were about to go when a flash of red caught Ishafel's eye.

"What is that?"

Climbing through the tall grass, she let out a strangled cry that sent the others running.

"Ishafel?" Leliana asked concerned. Ishafel's hand was clamped over her mouth in horror and she merely pointed.

A horribly mauled woman lay on the grass in front of them. She had been badly savaged by the bear, and probably wolves before that; but it was clear that in life she had been very tall, and had red hair.

"The boy's mother." Dylan sighed wearily, all the weight of the last few weeks showing on his face at once.

"Oh, no!" Leliana cried in distres, "The poor thing..."

Ishafel knelt over the body, softly singing prayers in elvish. She stopped after a moment, and lifted a medallion from the woman's neck.

"For her son." her eyes lingered over the woman's corpse, "He should not see her like this."

The morose mood lingered as they headed back into the village. Ishafel was deep in thought and did not notice the small grouping of people until Dylan spoke.

"What's this?" he whispered under his breath, "A welcome party?"

The air hummed with tension as they drew closer.

The seven men spread out to block the way. Ishafel recognized the man in front. He had been in the chantry when they had spoken to Ser Bryant.

"Death to the wardens, killers of King Cailan!"

Dylan frowned, "That charge is false. The wardens were betrayed, not the other way around."

"You misunderstand," The man said, giving a smile that could have doubled for a grimace. "The bounty on your head could feed a lot of empty stomachs."

"Don't" Dylan said to the men, as everybody's hands reach for their weapons, "Please don't."

His plea fell on deaf ears.

He found a moment later, when they were all dead, that the good feeling that had crept up on him when his was killing the bandits to protect the village had gone, leaving him with nothing but bitterness.

Ishafel glared and the dead men. "Dalish wouldn't behave this way." She informed the corpses.

"Let's get the Qunari and get out of here." he snapped. He was sick of hearing Ishafel compare humans to Dalish. He was sick of the whole Maker damned place.

The Revered Mother was overjoyed that the bandits were taken care of. She handed over the key, showering them with praise and proclaiming how much she trusted them. Ishafel had a massive headache by the end of it. Both she and Dylan let Leliana handle the thank yous. By equal measure Ser Bryant was overjoyed to hear about the hidden rations, and dispatched two groups of Templars to retrieve them almost immediately.

"The Qunari. I understand you're taking him with you. I can't say I agree with that choice but.." Ser Bryant strode to a cupboard and pulled out a older looking set of chainmail and a greatsword. "This may make him more useful."

Dylan thanked the Templar. It was odd to find a practical one among that bunch, might as well be thankful when you did.

A shock of red hair alerted Ishafel to the boy's presence. He approached her shyly.

"I still can't find her. The Templars have gone looking".

Ishafel took a deep breath, and held out the heirloom to the boy. Dylan half watched from the other side of the room while speaking with Leliana and Alistair. The boys knuckles were white at he practically crushed the charm. He lunged at Ishafel, beating his fist against her legs.

"You killed her! You killed her!" He shouted, "She wouldn't! She wouldn't just leave me like this! You killed her!"

She tried to draw away, but the boy had caught hold of her armor. After a few moments, he collapsed against her, sobbing.

His outburst caused the Templars to come running hands on hilts. Ishafel eyed the suspicious templars warily, and calmly explained to Ser Bryant what happened. Sirius trotted up to the boy and licked his face. The unexpected canine affection caused the boy to lose his grip on Ishafel. Sirius pushed the boy back, guffing gently. The boy threw his arms around the dog and began to cry all over again. Ishafel ran a small hand over his head telling him something that Dylan couldn't quite catch.

A wardog and a babysitter, how utterly remarkable."

The acidic remark from Morrigan finally got them moving again.

The sun was setting as they approached the Qunari's cage. He heard them coming, Dylan was sure. The chanting had stop well before they reached the front of the cage.

"And so you come again," he said not bothering to open his eyes, "What is it you want?"

"We got the Revered Mother to give us the key."

His eyes opened at the jingle of the key in the lock.

Ishafel swung the heavy metal door open with a huff, and he stepped down onto the soil. He gave the group a long measuring look, his eyes lingering on Ishafel.

"Very well, I will follow you, and in doing so, find my redemption."

She looked up at him, chin tilted to the side. Dylan recognized the gesture, she was taking his measure.

"What if we don't lead you to redemption?"

The look he gave her makes one of Morrigan's glowers look sunny.

"Then I will find it myself." His eyes moved to the highway in the distance.

"Shall we go? I'm keen to be far from here."

He wasn't the only one.


	13. Part 2: Chapter 4: The High Road

_Authors note: This took forever to write, and that's not even including the revisions. Thank you to everyone who review and asked me to update. It's people like you that keep me wrtiting this story =). Thank you to insane for being my beta and giving me good suggestions. As always, Reviews and creative criticisms are welcome!_

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Part 2: Fear and Lothering

Chapter 4: The High Road

Ishafel was not afraid of the dark.

The Dalish taught their children when they were very young that the night was a friend. The darkness and cover she offered was to be respected, not feared.

It was not the dark that was scaring her, she told herself. It wasn't even dark exactly, there was a greenish pallor to the space that rendered light without allowing her to see. A vibration hung in the air, a slight murmur, as though somebody was talking. She strained to hear, only to pick up a few rhythmic strains of... something. What was it? A song?

The ground beneath her feet began to move and she struggled to stay in place. The harder she fought, the faster she went, until she was speeding over a cliff that she had not known was there and plummeted into the garish firelight of a thousand darkspawn camps. The darkspawn howled and bayed, thrashed and grinned with evil, totally oblivious to their elven observer.

The chill of fear bloomed into a cold sweat as she watched them. Dwarves and humans were pulled to pieces as teeth and claws as they were devoured. The tainted ones were kept in cages, shrieking in horror and shame as they fed on the former and twisted into something new. The caged ones, she couldn't help but notice, were mostly women. A knot formed in her gut as she guessed their purpose.

One, only one, was a man.

The damned turned in his cage, his eyes meeting hers. Unlike the horde, he saw her. Ishafel wrenched away as his clawlike hand reached out.

His skin was turning black and hard, his eyes a predatory yellow.

Tamlen.

She couldn't help it, she screamed. An unexpected answer pierced the air from a tower sprung from nowhere. Stumbling, she turned to see what it could have only have been: the Archdemon, its form twisted around the spire. Staring at her, it opened it's mouth to roar again, but it was Tamlen's voice that screamed in anguish.

"Ishafel!"

She tried to move, to reach for a weapon somehow, but her limbs were lead. Her reflection was trapped within the monster's eye.

"Ishafel!"

There was a sharp bark that was more canine than darkspawn. Her eyes snapped open and she froze in place.

It took her a moment to realize that she was sitting up and that she held her Dar'misu tensely in front of her, paused mid stroke. Directly in the path of her blade stood Sirius, his head cocked quizzically. He was very, very still. She dropped the blade as though it was molten hot.

"I'm sorry, my friend."

Sirius woofed companionably and forced his head under the palm of her hand. She scratched the top his skull gratefully. Thank The Creators war hounds were so forgiving.

"Bad dreams, huh?"

Alistair's voice brought her back to reality. His face, bathed in the warm glow of the firelight, carried an unmistakeable look of understanding that annoyed her. Beside him sat a haunted looking Dylan, knees tucked up to his chin. He stared out into the dark beyond the camp as though it hid monsters.

"It seemed so real..." She managed to squeeze out hoarsely. She hated how flustered she sounded. It was never a good idea to show weakness in front of shems, in front of anyone for that matter, even someone so obviously harmless as Alistair.

"Well, it is real," Ishafel's entire being went cold. "sort of."

Sort of. Her tongue turned to sawdust in her mouth as she struggled to find the right words to phrase the question. Alistair continued on in his explanation, unaware how pale his friend had suddenly become.

"You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was, hearing them. The Archdemon, it... "talks" to the horde and we feel it just as they do. That's how we know this is really a Blight."

"The Archdemon? Is that the dragon?" Dylan's voice cracked from Alistair's side.

"I don't know if it is really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. It likes to twist reality to suit it's needs, I'm told. I once had a dream where all the wardens turned into darkspawn before my eyes, the very men and women sleeping beside me..."

His eyes clouded over with regret, and he forcibly steered himself back on topic.

"But yes, that is the Archdemon. It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens even say they can understand the Archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

Ishafel took a deep breath, and then another, trying to stop the pounding of her heart. It wasn't real. It wasn't Tamlen.

"Anyhow, when I heard you two thrashing around, I thought I should tell you." A small smile played on his lips. "Although I have to say, Ishafel, I'm glad I let Sirius wake you. As it was, Dylan almost set my hair on fire!"

She didn't see how he could joke over something like this, and her expression must have shown it, because his look of amusement morphed into an apology.

"It was scary at first for me, too."

She breathed deep, taking in the familiar smell of forest and campfire and night air. She held it there, inside her, for a moment and released. Her heartbeat was almost back to normal.

"I'm not frightened," She informed them, rising. Sirius, lolling on the ground next to bedroll ,whined in protest.

Dylan raised an eyebrow at her, clearly in disbelief. Alistair gave her a smirk that made her feel stupid.

"I screamed like a little girl, my first time. Duncan said he thought I had somebody in my room. Not embarrassing at all."

She kept her face blank and he sighed. "Well, I thought it was funny. Sten and Leliana are on watch, Dylan and I have the next shift. You can rest a little longer if you like, it was a rough journey today."

"I've handled much worse," she told him stretching out her legs, the nightmare had left her with a tense energy she was keen to burn off.

"Dylan, I can switch shifts with, if you like." She offered, sheathing her dar'misu. "You are not used to the pace of travel, you'll probably fall asleep again."

"Again?" Alistair gave him a wide grin that bore the promise of teasing in the near future. Dylan glared at Ishafel over his knees irritably. His bloodshot eyes only strengthened her resolve, he looked far too tired to be trustworthy on watch.

"I can take care of myself, thank you."

"It's not yourself you are taking care of," She replied in a no nonsense tone. "When on watch, you are taking care of all of us."

"Yeah, I can do that too." he snapped, stumbling to his feet as Leliana and Sten approached the fire, "Come on, Alistair."

Leliana gave Ishafel a cheerful smile as she joined her around the fire's edge. In comparison, Sten barely acknowledged her, turning away from them both, he stood like a statue, face turned towards another fire in the distance.

Ishafel stared and the little bloom of light and the familiar crop of hair moving around it. Morrigan.

She blinked, it was darker than it had been for some time. There was a thick, angry blanket of cloud rolling in over the stars. It would rain tomorrow. She rolled the kinks out of her shoulder as she surveyed the campground, barely remembering laying her head down. The glen of oak and birch trees was a large space, well used by travelers, the fire pit already dug. Not the kind she would have chosen. It was a piss poor place for those looking to stay hidden.

"Shouldn't we have stayed further in, what if Loghain's soldiers were on the road?

"They'd see travelers at a well used campsite," Leliana replied cheerily, the smell of rain in the air had done nothing to dampen her sunny attitude. "A well used venue doesn't leave a camp for them to find, how could they know it was us here? That's why I chose it after all."

Ishafel had to concede the point.

"You sound like you've done this before, Sister."

Leliana said nothing for a moment, the cheery glimmer on her face dimming. After a moment, she let out a laugh that was not quite as genuine as it needed to be.

"Not all of us are born in the Chantry, you know. Some of us had much more colorful lives before coming to the cloister. I was a traveling minstrel before coming to the chantry, and you learn much on the road."

"Minstrel?"

"Ah! the Dalish would call them something different, I think? Perhaps storyteller? But with music?"

She shifted uncomfortably again, and they grew silent.

Tired of the tension in the air, she drifted away from the former sister, who was now patiently cleaning the battle marked leather armor they had procured for her in Lothering.

The Qunari stood at the very edge of the warmth of the fire.

"Why are we stopping?"

"I think we should talk for a moment."

He looked at her with a condescending amount of impatience.

"There are darkspawn to be fought. Is this delay needful?"

"Are you alright?" she asked, curious, "You were in that cage for weeks, or so I've been told."

He recoiled as though she had said something particularly insulting.

"You are concerned? No need. I am fit enough to fight."

Ishafel sized him up, right up to the grumpy disposition on his face. The man had gone weeks without food or water, following which he trekked miles of rough terrain. She could not do that if she was the strongest hunter in all the clans. She knew nothing of the Qunari; she didn't know if it was typical, but it was something to be admired.

"You said you were in the army?" She remembered out loud.

"I am." There was a slight puff to his chest. Pride. He seemed used to her kind of inspection. His shoulders were squared, and he stood straighter than when she had first come over. He saw this as a military review? Curious.

"Have you been in war?"

"I have always fought in war, elf."

Ishafel fought the urge to bristle.

"What do you mean by that?"

She realized too late that the set of his shoulders were made rigid by exhaustion and his jaw was clenched. He may have been strong, but he was fast approaching his limit. Hardly the time to be asking questions.

"I do not see how this matters, we should continue onward."

Her eyes narrowed as she came to a final decision.

"No."

"No?" he parroted incredulously.

"Sten, you are exhausted. My people know little of the Qunari, but any man who was denied food and drink for weeks and then forced on a day's journey would rightfully be exhausted. You need to rest."

"And while we rest, the darkspawn will tear apart your Ferelden."

"It will not happen in one night." She pointed out.

"It is not-"

"A solider knows to take care of himself until he is needed. You can't very well fight if you are half dead. Eat. Rest. We will move on at dawn."

She did not wait for him to answer, she strode onwards toward her original goal: Morrigan's camp. The witch had made herself quite comfortable, she noted with a tinge of anger, far far away from the rest of the camp. It was by no means easily defensible. It wouldn't do to lose her so quickly.

"This is unacceptable."

Morrigan fiddled with her private fire and lazily raised an eyebrow at her. "True, 'tis not mother's shack in the Wilds, but it will have to do.

"If we are attacked, you will be cut off from us."

"We will not be attacked. Dylan and I warded the camp with glyphs while you slept. Be it Loghain's men, or bandits, they could stand nose to nose with us and see only nothing."

"Be that-"

"You will not herd me!" she snapped, tired of bandying words "I am not a child to be lectured to. I can defend this camp and I will defend it from here."

As she opened her mouth to protest, a terrible scream rose from the front of camp. Temporarily forgetting Morrigan, she rushed back to the camp proper, the witch close at her heels, to find a rather humorous situation.

Bodahn's caravan stood in the entrance of the campsite.

Dylan looked liked he just had the Archdemon pop up behind him, hands on his knees, breathing hard. It was clear it was he who had screamed. A sheepish-looking Alistair explained.

"He says the younger dwarf just appeared in front of him with this," He held up the offending piece of darkspawn armor, there was a skull still attached to the top, "and said 'hello, pretty lady!'"

Alistair was struggling to hold in the mirth. Ishafel let out a long suffering sigh.

Sandal for his part, stood serenely next to his father, who looked properly horrified.

"And where were you?"

Alistair looked affronted, "I heard wheels on the road and went to check it out, and well, it is as you see."

"We didn't mean to alarm anyone; we fell behind the caravan we were to travel with awhile ago. We've camped here before and I sent Sandal ahead to scout out who might be here. The boy is really quite silent you see, good for spotting those who would be less than welcoming."

Dylan looked up from his knees to shoot Bodahn a nasty look.

"I remembered your kind offer in Lothering, so I thought we might travel together for a time. We didn't mean any harm." He finished in a rush.

"Well, you are welcome here, the two of you, provided you mind yourselves." She looked at Sandal who stared back placidly, "Especially you."

"Thank you very much, m'lady." Bodahn's face relaxed, "We can set the caravan up over here." He looked at the camp of bedrolls incredulously,.

"Is this all you have?"

"We aim to travel light."

"Well, I am most certainly willing to pay you for our protection with tents and the like. Protect you from the rain on it's way."

"That would be agreeable." She nodded in confirmation. "Alistair, Dylan, back to watch. The moon is not high in the sky yet; if, of course, you are properly recovered, Dylan."

His gaze shot out at her from beneath a fall of fire colored hair. Her smile sat crooked on her face.

"It's not funny!" he hissed.

"No it's not," she agreed, "Alistair should have been watching your back. Be more vigilant, the both of you. It would be a shame to have you gutted so soon." her smile stayed crooked.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Dylan blinked at her. "Come on," he motioned to Alistair, "before she tries again." He shuddered theatrically and Alistair snorted.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, but it still managed to rob Dylan of his rest. When he slept, he dreamed, and his dreams were monstrous. If he so much as closed his eyes, there were murmurs. He was awake to see the haze settle on the land, a warm humidity that promised rain, and he was already moving to pack up camp when the first drops fell. Morrigan was quicker, appearing from almost nowhere to drop her packs in Bodhan's cart. Sten finished quickly, but passed the cart in disdain to join Morrigan on the roadside, heavy gear resting solidly on his back. Tired as he was, Dylan fumbled with his own bedroll. Suddenly Leliana was beside him, saying something far too cheery for his mood and tackling the ties as though they were nothing. She even showed him a trick to the knot so it would hold better.

"What would someone like you be doing in Lothering's Chantry?" he blurted out, stunned.

Her hands stilled on the last tie. "What is meant by someone like me?"

Maker help him, he was as bad as Ishafel. That was no way to talk to a potentially crazy lady.

"You know," He gave his most charming smile, the one that made the female apprentices weak in the knees. "A beautiful, charming woman like yourself."

It had the desired effect. She smiled at him, a laugh glowing on her face.

"And there were no beautiful, charming women in the cloisters, you think? Oh, you would be wrong. Their were many- all virtuous and chaste. It adds to their mystique, because then the fruit is forbidden, and that make it that much sweeter, no?"

Leliana appeared to think quite a lot about beautiful women, Dylan thought to himself wolfishly. He forgot his resolve to deal politely with the insane temporarily.

"And what about your fruit, is it forbidden?" he asked in a low voice. Her head snapped up from her own pack.

"Excuse me? I...I can't believe we are having this conversation."

Dylan noticed, with the eye of someone well versed in flirting games, that she was nowhere near as startled that she pretended to be, the mark of an experienced player. A true novice would have blushed all the way up to her pretty hairline. Leliana just looked mildly disconcerted. There was more to the Chantry mouse than met the eye.

"I assume this conversation was meant to wheedle the secrets of my skills from me. I shall tell you what I told Ishafel, I was merely a traveling minstrel, my skills were learned on the road."

Morrigan let out a loud sigh from the roadside. "If it isn't too much trouble for the two of you, we should be on our way some time this year."

"Ah,"Leliana clucked, her face holding a small placating smile. "Shall we go?" She moved quickly, placing distance between them and effectively ending the conversation.

Dylan watched her go.

"The little Chantry mouse is keeping secrets," he said in a sing song voice to himself, not expecting Ishafel's answer.

"I agree," she said beside him, watching the red haired woman playfully pet Sirius as she laughed at something Alistair said.

"She knows how to move in these woods, like she's used to traveling fast and hiding in plain sight. She merits watching."

Dylan nodded tiredly. Ishafel looked at him with a furrowed brow.

"Are you alright? You do not appear to have rested well."

He smiled at her bitterly, narrowed eyes taking in the starkness of the designs on her face against paler than usual skin.

"You had the dreams, you know how I slept."

She swallowed dryly. "Dylan, What- What did you see?"

His eyes hardened. The dark look reminded her of the day after she had met him at the tower, repressed rage threatening to bubble over into something hard and tangible.

"Nothing of importance."

"I see."

The Archdemon had been playing with them all. Tamlen was dead, which was better than being alive at

the hands of the darkspawn.

Deep in her soul, she felt a mirthless chuckle. Unnerved, she motioned to Dylan, whose eyes still dwelt wherever the Archdemon had chosen to show him.

"Come" she added, "We must get going before the rain starts."

Despite Leliana's protests, they stayed off the main roads for the first few days. The rain had threatened to fall on that first morning continued in thick sheets on the second day and the sucking, squelching mud forced them back onto the paved King's High Road. Talking in a constant downpour was near impossible, and if their mission was any less dire, travel would not have even had been attempted. If they had been able to converse, it would have been a terse affair. The rain had made everyone more irritable than usual. Sten walked through the onslaught of rain as though it were nonexistent, his true feelings on the matter not even revealed by his face. Morrigan had at some point shifted into something else, what exactly Dylan was unsure, probably something that could swim. Dylan himself spent most of the day trying to perfect a shield to keep them dry, and while bloodying Alistair's nose when his attempt to walk through it failed, the thing couldn't keep out the rain. The only one among them who seem to enjoy the rain was Sirius who, despite it being a bit out of character for a wardog, enjoyed jumping and snapping at the raindrops that particularly offended him. Leliana fashioned her old chantry robes into a cloak and hood and was keeping her own spirits up by singing into the rain, but her voice was almost completely drowned out by the torrent.

The rain made the going much slower than planned and they were all extremely glad (even Sten, though he did not show it) to see the small hamlet of Prosper that marked the halfway point to Redcliffe. Prosper had been home to just a few even before the darkspawn attacks started, but now with fears of the Blight on the way, it seemed that just three families were left and all three were running the local inn together. Despite the villagers fleeing, and business failing, the group came into a surprisingly lively place. The innkeepers, all seven of them, were surprisingly optimistic about their circumstances and offered a clean and warm place for all to eat and rest their heads.

In short, it was the perfect place to stop for a day and dry off.

The day of rest was a comfort to all but Sten, who sighed and grumbled under his breath.

But when the weary party sat down to dinner, all of their tempers had improved.

"And here's a nice bone for you, doggie." The younger ginger haired barmaid said with admiration, "What a good boy you are, getting all those nasty ratties out of the cellar."

Sirius ate up the attention, giving a happy bark as he set upon his prize.

"You're lucky, to have one like him." she gushed to the party while serving them hot stew so good it made Dylan want to get down on one knee and propose. He settled for flirting shamelessly with her.

Ishafel ignored Dylan's blather, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She did not like this place as much as the humans, even Morrigan, did. Walls, especially human walls, felt too much like a cage. Her eyes scanned the room, jumping from patron from patron. She was surprised to find a set of eyes watching her. Green ones, as bright and as hard as polished emerald stone, met hers as they darted to and fro. They rested in the face of a human male who couldn't be much older herself, but younger perhaps than Dylan by a winter or two, she was unsure. He looked travel worn and weary, if his faded cloak and boots were any indication, but tough regardless. A scar, long since healed, started at the base of his eyebrow and followed the curve of his jaw to the shallow of his cheekbone. He had seen combat then. He must have appreciated her stare and liked what he saw in return, for he raised his tankard to her before taking a long sip.

"Oh, we haven't heard anything from Redcliffe for days now, but that's not all that uncommon. What with the knights gone and all, that part of the King's road isn't safe for those of us who aren't warriors like yourselves."

The barmaid's ramble and the clinking of the bowl being set down in front of her brought her back to her companions.

"So no juicy gossip from Redcliffe then, shame." Dylan sighed, "but surely you've heard gossip from elsewhere."

"Aye," She said, leaning on the side of the table in thought. She rattled off a series of totally irrelevant things and til she came to what was truly important. "And you know the Bannorn is all abuzz with news of the Grey Wardens. Can you believe them? They're supposed to be protecting us from the Nlight and instead they throw in with king-killers. No wonder the price on their heads has doubled." She clucked her tongue in disapproval, and smiled warmly at Dylan.

"You folks need anything, anything at all, you let me know."

The table sat in silence for a whole minute after she left.

"Well, it appears Loghain is running a smear campaign against the Wardens." Dylan said.

"Thank you for stating the obvious." Morrigan said before daintily beginning to eat.

"How does this matter? Does it interfere with you doing your duty?" Sten asked tersely

As the discussion, taking placed in hushed tones began to heat up. Ishafel's gaze wandered back to the stone eyed stranger.

He was gone.

They did not dally in Prosper any more than they needed to after the discussion with the barmaid. They were out on the road well before nightfall, and Ishafel was happy to have the cover of a small wood before long. The mist from the rain gave the trees around them a silvery appearance. The beautiful sight did not change the fact that she felt she was being watched. Every so often she swore she heard footfalls not their own. It was hard to tell, traveling with so many who were not clan, what everybody sounded like. But she had no notion of just how the grey figure was able to creep up on them up on them, all she was able to do was react as the cloaked figure flew out of the mist and toward Dylan. Sliding forward she insulated herself between the two of them, slamming her shoulder into Dylan and forcing him out of the way. The impact knocked both Ishafel and the mysterious attack down the ravine at the said of the road and the mist swallowed them whole.

Dylan's brain reeled and responded with the confused phrase "Whatiz?" before being planted face down in mud and spring moss. Sirius gave a skull shaking bark of alarm a few inches from his face before leaping into the abyss after his mistress.

He would have that headache for awhile, he was sure.

"Ishafel!" Alistair shouted, attempting to climb over a rotting protective railway that should have prevented such mishaps, but his plate mail was not keen on the idea. Leliana in her leathers was up and over far faster. She let out a terribly unladylike squeal as she realized how steep the ravine actually was.

Ishafel tried desperately to orient herself and keep her attacker's hands away from her neck as the pair tumbled down into the ravine. She partially succeeded, managing to land on top of him, only to be shoved off . The man was brutishly strong, if the shove were any indication. It took all her skill as a hunter not to fall over onto her back. Scrambling, she barely made it out of the way as he attempted to plunge a blade through her breastbone. Reaching for her Dar'misu, she was able to block his strike scant second before. He had speed as well as strength. Circling, she could see the contours of his face hidden beneath a shadow filled hood.

"Warden bitch, you will pay for what you've done!"

Ishafel felt the impatience that had been growing in her since Lothering spear through her.

Did humans just believe what they were told like young halla, eager to be led? Why was everyone so willing to believe the worst of them?

"And what have we done to _you_, stranger?" She spat, "Did a Warden look at you funny? Or are you another of the dishonorable rabble using Loghain's lies as an excuse to collect a bounty."

"Do you think it's _funny_ to deny your crimes against my family. Tell me how long has been since the darkspawn no longer slake the wardens blood lust, how long has in been since the Wardens turned the blade to _children!_"

Light rain began to fall through the mist, casting a slick sheen on the ground around them.

His movement propelled her forward, blades met and sparked, before they darted away from each other. He hefted his weight against hers, using his own speed to thwart her ability to dance away. She felt her knees buckle and went with the sway, intending to roll through the mud to safety, but the ground was against her. Her foot lost purchase as she maneuvered, sending her spiraling to the muddy ground. She watched in horror as his blade swung up.

It was a death blow, they could both feel it. She could only wastch as the blade swung down towards its inevitable bloody conclusion.

Only to freeze.

"Aren't you happy one of us knows how to move in the rain?"

Morrigan stood scant few feet behind her attacker, her right hand shimmering with her magic.

Muffled sounds turned into a stomping rampage as the rest of the party clamored into the clearing.

Sirius fearlessly inserted himself between the man and Ishafel, growling.

Dylan huffed into the clearing only to see that Morrigan had the situation firmly in hand. He whistled low in respect. "Paralysis? Neat piece of work. I don't think I could have caught him myself."

Morrigan smirked.

Sten continued his march toward the frozen man, raising his sword high.

"Stop."

The qunari froze in place, greatsword in midswing "Why?"

Ishafel rose from the earth, once again dripping in mud. She gave a slight shake, but it clung to her regardless. Sirius looked up at her and whined. Placing an unmuddied hand on his head to reassure him that she was only a little bruised, she faced her hooded attacker.

"I would know what you meant." She asked the hood, "About Wardens killing children."

Alistiar and Dylan's faces took on twin looks of disgust.

"What?" Alistair spluttered. "The Wardens don't kill children! That's the most... can you believe how ridiculous that is? I mean, really?"

"I never killed a child in my life." Dylan seconded, "Maybe singed the ears of a few magelets, but I would never..."

"Speak."

"You may find he has slight difficultly," Morrigan noted, casually tossing back the man's hood.

Ishafel recoiled.

It was the travel beaten, stone eyed man from the inn. The marauder worked his jaw, grinding his teeth. His eyes blazed that almost unnatural green at her.

"Release his jaw."

He blinked and twitched "Bitch" He spat.

"Which one of use are you referring to?" Morrigan needled. His gaze stayed firmly on Ishafel, like a snake trying to hypnotize a mouse.

It was unfortunate for him that Ishafel no mouse.

"I'm sure neither of us has time for such pleasantries. I would know what you meant, and I would know now."

Alistair moved to stand beside her.

"You heard the nice la...wait," He paused studying his face. "I know you." Alistair said. "You were at Ostagar. Cousland; the younger brother. Fergus? No... Michael."

The rage in Michael's voice was barely controlled.

"How _nice_ that the people responsible for the murder of my family, down to my four year old nephew, remember my name."

"We've told you," Dylan reminded him cooly, ice chips in his voice, "We don't know what you are talking about." He gently lifted Ishafel's wrist off of Sirius' head, and healed the blue blush of bruises already beginning to show. A slight smile and a nod were his thanks.

"Liars" he snarled, "Rendon Howe, an honorable man who fought beside the hero Loghain at the battle of the River Dane, told me the Wardrens were behind the assassination of my family!

"Assassination? The Couslands are dead? When?" Alistair's asked horrified.

"Howe said it was a month and a half ago, Right after my brother and I left for Ostagar."

"Why would the Warden's kill your family?" Dylan asked, confused.

"Howe said it was because my father refused to let our men go through the Joining. He the witnessed the fight with Duncan, Warden Commander, in our castle in Highever, the night before the assassination occurred, and came too late to stop it.

Ishafel and Dylan shared a look.

"That's impossible. Duncan had just recruited the two of us, we were on the road to Ostagar from the Circle." Ishafel informed him. "I was...recovering from illness. It slowed our travel time. We made it to Ostagar three days later than we were supposed to."

"There was no way Duncan could have gotten to Highever in that time. Not even with magical intervention." Dylan added.

"You seek to play me false? Howe is an honorable man and a friend of my family."Michael tried in vain to move, but was stuck in exactly the same position as before. He shot Morrigan a look that would have caused a lesser person to step back. She simply examined her nails.

"And the right hand of Loghain Mac Tir, traitor to the king." Dylan added.

"Isn't he the Arl of Amaranthine as well?"

"Aye, and a loyal friend of my father."

"A loyal friend whose land holdings are next to each other?" Leliana asked, Maneuvering around everybody to get a clear look at Michael, and there was almost the sound of a 'tut tut', in her voice.

"Tell me, if your entire family were to die, what would happen to the lands of Highever?"

The implication began to sink in. "They would be up for reassignment by the King."

"Who is dead." Ishafel added. She did not understand where this was going, but from the grim looks on everyone's faces, especially the attacker's, she could tell it was important.

"They would be reassigned by the regent, who is the queen. Loghain's daughter." Alistair said what all but Ishafel, and perhaps Sten and Sirius, already knew.

"Tell me what would the Wardens gain by killing your family?" Leliana continued on in her pleasant voice, but it was clear she was now driving her point home.

Michael was silent. She seemed to take that as his response.

"But Howe," tapping her finger to the side of her face in mock thought, "Loghain's right hand man, would be rewarded with a Teyrnir.

Michael said nothing still, but it was clear that Leliana's words had struck a blow.

"If Morrigan releases you will you still attack?" Ishafel asked, his arms had to hurt from being in the air for so long.

"No." His answer was curt.

Ishafel nodded at Morrigan.

"You believe him?" she asked with genuine curiosity. She shrugged, and the magic was gone.

"This is unwise." Sten stated under his breath, but no one was listening.

Michael dropped his sword, the metallic clang transformed into a dull splunch by the mud. He stumbled over to the a tree and collapsed against it, breathing hard as though someone had struck him.

In a way, someone had.

Ishafel looked out of the corner of her eye at the serene Leliana. That, whatever she had just did, was not something you learned on the road. Anyone could speak the facts, but there was something else, underlying words and actions that stuck out. She felt eyes on her, and shifted her own to the source. They met Dylan's whose darted away to Leliana and back to her own in seconds.

The meaning was clear, but it was a discussion for another time.

"How did you come to find us?" Ishafel asked him, bending down and picking up his sword.

"There was a delay of the second wave of my family's troops. Sylpheria... he paused for breath at the name, "My sister...was supposed to be leading them, but her messenger was late. By about two days. Fergus set me on his route to find out what happened. I am... was... the best tracker out of the two of us. But there was no messenger. By the time I turned around, Ostagar had already occurred. I met Loghain and Howe on the way back. They were surprised to see me..." Vicious anger twisted his face. "But I supposed they thought I was in the battle. Howe spun his now painfully obvious lie and I saw red. The idea that Wardens had killed my family, and were alive..."

"You ran straight into enemy arms and were too stupid to know it." Ishafel said scathingly. Michael's face purpled in response. "How was I supposed to know?"

"But how would they know about us? She asked, ignoring him, "They were gone from Lothering when we got there!"

"I do remember you sending a rather terse message to Loghain through one of his soldiers." Dylan reminded her dryly.

Ishafel opened her mouth to retort, found nothing to say, and came up with "Oh."

Michael gave Ishafel a sour look.

"I was looking for warden stragglers, particularly Duncan. I was attacked twice before I reached Prosper. I thought they were brigands. or worse," he laughed bitterly, "Wardens."

"Probably Howe's men." Leliana confirmed.

"Wait," Dylan held up his hands as though physically stopping the train of though. "You weren't looking for us specifically?"

"No."

"Then how did you know we were Wardens?"

Michael him a cat that got the canary smile. "You should be careful what you say around tavern wenches, you never know who they might talk to for coin. Although I confess..." he leveled his gaze back at Ishafel with an appreciative sweep. "At the time I was looking for information on her. Do you know how out of place a well armed elf is in a human inn?"

"He's got a point," Alistair acknowledged. "As much as I am loathe to say it, we should avoid inns from now on."

"Or maybe we should just keep him away from tavern wenches and make her wear a dress,"

Ishafel looked so revolted at that comment that Morrigan was tempted to give Michael a pat on the back.

"Wait, wait, wait! What do you mean we?"

"I mean I'm going to Redcliffe, you're going to Redcliffe, and taking the long way around. And now at least we have similar purpose. Arl Eamon is the only noble who I would trust. Why not go together?"

"Because you fully intended to kill me a moment ago." Ishafel almost shouted.

Michael gave her a smirk, "Can't we let bygones be bygones? Besides, I know the backroads around these parts pretty well. Or were you actually going to try to take that cart through the forest?"

"You can travel with us to Redcliffe. No further." She huffed.

"My dear, with an attitude like that, I'm quite sure you'll never get rid of me."

* * *

_Authors endnote: And that is the end of Part 2! Things are getting busy for me at work, so there will probably be an interlude before Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood. Please review and tell me what you think of Michael. He's going to be a thorn Ishafel's side through all of part 3, so I'd like to get some feedback on him. Till next time!_


	14. Part 3: Chapter 1: Problems

_Author's Note: Well, this took a particularly long time to write. Primarily because of writers block. I've managed to avoid the dreaded block so far by knowing mostly how big picture things in each Part are going to turn out. In this chapter, nothing, absolutely nothing, I planned got written. I wrote it, read it and hated it's guts. It was the first time ever I've just deleted a file and started from scratch. Luckily, I was able to get with the program and several revisions later, this chapter took form; several revisions after that, it was completed. Sorry for the wait. A big thank you to my reviewers from last chapter for urging me to update. And a big thank you to my wonderful beta, almostinsane, who managed to get the beta'd copy back to me same day. You are awesome! As always, enjoy and please review. I consider all feedback._

_-Scarlet_

* * *

Part Three: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 1: Problems

Dylan had grown up in a closed community. His apprentice cohort had only been about 15 mages. Two or three had been sent to Starkhaven a few years after he had arrived. He was very familiar with childish bickering. He had even participated in some of it...

But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the terror that was Michael Cousland.

Truly, he was in awe. The man had turned needling into an art form. All he could think of as he walked in conversation with Leliana watched the evil unfold from the corner of his eye, was 'Thank the Maker, I'm not the target of..._that'._

Ishafel, however, was by no means as lucky.

"So," he asked, his voice too sweet to mean anything good; "Is the mud a Dalish thing? Are your people very rustic, or is it part of some kind of elven ritual?"

Ishafel fought the urge to insert her dagger in his mouth and shove it down his throat.

Three bloody hours ...

The Dalish didn't even have a word for for this kind of concentrated annoyance. It was like constantly being buzzed by Wilds gnats: hideous little creatures that attempted en masse to dismember their prey by biting small chunks of their skin and working at it until there was no flesh to be had on bone at all.

Oh, the questions had started innocently enough; but there was always a twist to them that was loaded or insulting. He was all apologies at first, but after awhile Michael took no pains to hide his animosity. What she had managed to do to him was a mystery. He had beaten her in that clearing, as loathe as she was to admit it. If not for Morrigan, he would have killed her.

If anything, _she_ should be the one who was spiteful!

She had learned better than to stay silent. Not responding was even worse. He made a rather twisted game out of getting her to balk and seemed to enjoy trying to outdo himself.

"Are all humans so very stupid," she snapped, giving him a glare that would would strip flesh from bone, "Or is it just you?"

He returned the look with smile that met cold eyes, "Just me, I'm sure. So, the rustic mud suit is just you then. Oh, Ishi, you really must take better care of yourself. Losing your footing in battle, walking around in mud-"

A strangled sound found it's way up Ishafel's throat. "_What_ did you call me?"

"Ishi?" Michael's smile got even bigger.

Dylan was seriously beginning to wonder if the man was trying for death by Ishafel. Maybe he should get Leliana to counsel him. After an hour of speaking amicably with her, he was convinced that while she was not telling them everything, her belief in the Maker, at least, was sincere.

It was the most boring damned conversation he had ever had.

"They bicker like a married couple." Leliana said laughing as she noticed Dylan's gaze. Ishafel had drawn her dar'misu and was waving it threateningly at Michael, who had in turn drawn his own dagger in a mocking imitation.

"A really spiteful married couple." Alistair put in with a shudder, "I'm surprised she hasn't killed him yet, actually."

They watched as she lunged at him with her blade. Michael twisted out of the way, laughing.

"Well, obviously it's not for lack of trying." Morrigan called out over her shoulder. She was walking slightly ahead of them, and giving Dylan a terrific view of her swaying backside. Despite the lovely vantage point, it was very hard to enjoy the spectacle, what with the bickering and Leliana droning on about the Maker and the fact that Sten seemed to be trying to abandon them by walking as fast as he was able. As Dylan rubbed his head in frustration and drew his stave, Leliana put a morning chilled hand on his sleeve.

"Allow me." She said.

Ishafel, in the meantime, had abandoned all restraint. Later, perhaps she would think on the repeated lectures about restraint and forethought she had received from Da'ben and Marethari; right now...

She almost had the annoying shem!

Ishafel lunged feverishly as Michael danced away with a smirk. She just had to box him in! Ishafel was so focused on her objective that it took her a moment to realize the clanging sound she had just heard was her dar'misu flying out of her hand. It was joined in the dirt by Michael's dagger not a second later.

Ishafel and Michael looked back at their audience. Michael frowned at Leliana, but the expression bordered on a pout, as though someone had taken away his favorite toy.

"Now _children," _Dylan said acidly, his already acerbic tone accented by the monumental headache that was forming. "It's time for you to go to your prospective corners and _not speak to each other_ for awhile."

"Oh?" Michael challenged, but he apparently knew better than to bother a mage with a migraine. He retrieved his weapon from the ground gracefully. "Well, Ishi dearest, the... conversation... has been sparkling. We really must do this again. Perhaps next time I can show you how a real fighter manages his sword."

He gave a hair curling smile that matched the hidden meaning in the words.

Dylan nearly choked on his tongue at the innuendo. Luckily for everybody, it seemed to go right over Ishafel's head.

"Stop calling me that!" She shrieked, groping the ground for her blade, but by the time she had picked it up, Michael had sauntered out of striking range.

"Miss Leliana," he said offering her his arm, "You simply must tell me where you learned that little trick with the throwing knives I wasn't even aware you carried."

She gave him a guileless smile, dislodging herself from Dylan to daintily accept the proffered arm.

"There are lots of things about me you are unaware of, Mr. Michael."

Together, they walked to the front of the pack, leaving a seething Ishafel in their wake. Leliana gave her a wink as they passed.

Potential murder mostly adverted, the party moved on.

Ishafel walked slowly, attempting to control her breathing along with her rage. Dylan and Alistair walked in companionable silence on either side of her, just in case.

"Quite... a personality... isn't he?" Dylan said after the heaving of her chest stopped for the most part.

"I should have killed him when I had the chance." she muttered.

Dylan's eyes wandered over the lordling and the not-quite chantry mouse as they spoke. Both them possessed a studied ease that bored on being guarded. It was similar to the airs worn by majority of the mages at the tower. Constantly fighting off demons and templars, but firmly pretending that all was well anyway.

It was an air that spoke of a harder life than one was willing to admit to. He could relate.

"It might have to do with...his family." It was clear that Ishafel did not understand, and explaining would be pointless. She would be liable to speak of it and with her tact... it was best not to stir the pot.

"People have strange ways of dealing with tragedy." Dylan shrugged at her.

"He certainly seems carry on without issue." She shot another skin peeling glare at the back Michael's head. He was laughing merrily at some witty comment Leliana had made.

"Who is to say he was truthful with us?" She remarked scathingly.

It had been a day and a half since he had attacked them on the road. In that short a time, the angst driven, sorrow hollowed man had disappeared. Replaced instead by what could have been a young nobleman out a merry hunt, relishing in gaming, drinking and attempting tell stories by the fire.

And of course making Ishafel want to offer her neck to the dread wolf.

"He has secrets," Dylan said calmly. "Don't we all? He's not going to attack us again, and we will be rid of him come Redcliffe. You only have to put up with it til then."

"You don't find it, I don't know, endearing?" Alistair asked innocently. "the nickname, I mean?"

Ishafel's face scrunched up like a soured fruit.

"Relax." Dylan said, catching himself before he laughed at her. "Lots of people at the circle used to call me "Dyl". Is it really something to get upset about?"

Sirius barked in the distance to slow Sten, who was disappearing around a bend and then galloped after him.

Ishafel didn't answer. Shrugging, Dylan increased his stride, intending to join Morrigan. He wanted to talk to her about that paralysis spell anyway.

"Short-names are a sign of intimacy among the Dalish." she said haltingly. He slowed. "We usually do not refer to each other by first name unless they are of clan. Every member of my clan would be 'Mahariel' to another clan. It is disrespectful to call someone not of clan by their given name. Only close friends and family ever shorten names."

"Ah," Alistair said in a sudden moment of comprehension, "I see."

And then she added, for no reason she could think of:

"The last people I remember calling me by a short name were my...family...before I was exiled and..."

Both men fell silent as her voice trialed off. It was the first time Ishafel had offered any personal information about herself. Alistair had laid out his own life story one of their first nights on the road. Even Morrigan, that first day in Lothering, had told Dylan of her younger years as a child apostate. Dylan himself had mentioned things here or there. Ishafel had listened to them all, even asked questions, Maker bless her, but never once had said anything of her own situation.

Curiosity gripped Dylan. There were suddenly hundreds of questions he wanted to ask. It occurred to him then that he did not know just how Ishafel came to be in the Tower tainted. She had been forthcoming enough about everything in her life since meeting up with Duncan. But Duncan had found her tainted, and the darkspawn were not as far as the Brecillian yet.

It occurred to him for all their fighting and planning together, he knew Ishafel very little.

"You're an exile?" Alistair asked, seeming to have realized the same thing inexplicably faster than Dylan.

Dylan stuck around to hear the answer, because the look on Ishafel's face became so raw that he couldn't have left if he tried.

"Yes. The Keeper commanded me to go, and so I left."

"But how did you meet Duncan?" He asked, confused.

"Duncan is the one who caused me to be exiled. Demanded it actually." The words were steeped in a bitterness that presented only more questions. Duncan had doted on Ishafel, especially over matters concerning her health. He could have well believed they were good friends. There was no illusion in their travels which recruit he thought was worth his time.

"Duncan?" Alistair asked dumbstruck, "Why would he do such a thing? I can't believe it!"

A trademark Ishafel glare, the first not to be directed at Michael in some time, followed.

"Oh, very nice, accuse the poor girl of lying. What is the matter with you?" Dylan replied snidely.

"When did I say she was lying?" Alistair asked affronted. When they turned to question further, she was a figure on the horizon, nearly as far ahead of them as Sten.

"You don't suppose she's mad at me now?" his voice was halfway between sorrow and anxiety and reminded him so much of Cullen that he could well believe he was back at the Tower. "I never was good at talking to girls."

"You should clear the whole lying business up as soon as possible." He said, moving forward to intercept her. It seemed a cruel thing given the pain on her face to leave her alone now, and the distance that she had always been careful maintained took on new meaning. So rather than slink off to Morrigan, he walked beside her as they moved on. Though it became apparent that she wasn't really in the mood to entertain any more questions about her past at present.

"You really believe he doesn't have a motive for following us to Redcliffe?" Ishafel asked, her voice carrying the telltale edge of suspicion.

Dylan shrugged."Maybe he does, but his motives are his own."

"And what motive does the Sister have?" Ishafel asked, her brows furrowing.

"She would not tell me. It maybe that she does not trust us yet." The headache in Dylan's brain began to pulse. There was a tingle on his skin. Odd, there were no darkspawn or Ishafel would already have drawn her bow.

"Is it the custom of shems to lie so much?"

Dylan cracked a wincing smile.

"I don't think they are lying so much as refusing to tell us the truth."

Ishafel's eyebrows furrowed even deeper,

"Shems think there is a difference?"

"You don't?"

"Are _you_ hiding a truth?" She asked him impulsively.

"Are _you_?" he asked, suddenly defensive. It didn't matter whether or not he was hiding anything, what gave her cause to ask a question like that?

She snorted "Of course not. What would I have to hide?"

"How did you come by the taint?"

The question tumbled out of his mouth before he had time to process what he was going to say. Really, Ishafel must have been rubbing off on him. She recoiled from the question as though stung by a bee. It was sometime before they spoke again. The backroads were giving wider purchase now, turning from barely visible dirt lines into hard beaten paths. They were rewarded for their days of travel when the trees abruptly cut away out on to a jut of red rock pealing down into a valley below, lush with human dwellings that curved out lumpily into Lake Calenhad.

Redcliffe at last.

Ishafel admired the view, marred as it was by human dwellings. The clan had never come this way, and she had never seen a lake so large before. She wondered idly what Tamlen would have thought of it, he probably would want to scout for well-used drinking areas to lay traps for deer. What would Fenarel and Merrill think? Gazing at the lake and the hills beyond, Ishafel took stock of things. Dylan was right, of course. Though it seemed the short time they had been together could be a lifetime, none of the traveling companions really knew each other. Everyone had secrets: Michael, Morrigan, Leliana, probably even Sten.

If they were secrets that did not endanger their mission to slaughter the archdemon, did it really matter?

Dylan's question burned uncomfortably in her mind. She did not want to talk about it, not really. Tamlen was dead, and talking about it would not bring him back.

Alistair appeared at her side with an apology and a smile. There, at least, was one shem who was totally transparent. He probably couldn't keep a secret if he tried!

They continued down the from the hills above the sleepy looking hamlet. The forest was just about to give way to the town when Alistair called to Dylan and Ishafel to stop.

"Look, can we talk for a moment. I have something I, ah, should have probably told you both earlier."

'So much for the idea of one truthful companion', Ishafel thought to herself ruefully.

Well, that wasn't quite true. Sirius didn't keep secrets, but then Sirius was a Mabari.

"What's on you mind?" Dylan asked cautiously. Ishafel could tell he was just as surprised at Alistair's omission of truth. It felt good not to be the only one surprised. Marethari's voice chided her in her mind.

"Well, let's see... How do I tell you this?" He looked down towards his fidgeting hands and then back up abruptly. "We're almost at Redcliffe. Did I say how I know Arl Eamon, exactly?"

Dylan honestly had no idea, but Ishafel, whom had spent a great deal of their journey walking with Alistair, knew.

"I think you said he raised you."

He nodded.

"I'm a bastard. My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and she died when I was born. Arl Eamon took me in and raised me before I was sent to the chantry. The reason he did that was because..." He took a deep breath and the next sentence tumbled out as though he was saying it as fast as humanly possible.

"Well, because my father was King Maric."

Neither Dylan or Ishafel said anything; Dylan because he was in shock, mouth hanging slightly agape and Ishafel because she did not understand the importance of it.

His father was the human king, and?

"What? You don't think you might have mentioned this before?" Dylan almost shouted. Ishafel frowned, clearly, this was _very_ important.

Alistair looked at him sourly. He must have been taking lessons from Ishafel.

"How? What would I say? 'Oh, by the way, King Maric had sex with a servant and she produced a bastard son. That's me.'"

"Well, I wouldn't have phrased it like that; but you should have told us Alistair." Dylan said, crossing his arms. "You should have told us the minute we decided on Redcliffe. You don't think that might have a bearing on how our discussion with the Landsmeet goes?"

He had the decency to look sheepish.

"I would have told you, but...it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone."

"A threat to Cailan?" Ishafel asked, baffled, "Why?"

"I'm not sure how the Dalish choose their leaders, but among humans it's hereditary. From father to son. If a king has two sons, there is the chance the second one might try to seize the throne." Dylan explained.

"But Alistair would never do something like that!"

Alistair gave Ishafel the warmest smile she'd ever seen.

"Exactly! But try telling that to the people who would. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me...even Duncan. He kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn't want you to know, as long as possible. I'm sorry."

Ishafel nodded, gripping his shoulder in the same way she might have a green hunter, unsure of his ability.

"I think I understand. Know this, you are a fine warrior and as long as I've known you, a decent man, which is rare enough among shem. This does not change how I think of you."

Dylan shrugged at him and grinned, almost mockingly.

"Well, I always knew you were a bastard. Now your just a royal bastard. Doesn't change anything."

Alistair barked in laugher as Dylan clapped him on the same shoulder where Ishafel had squeezed.

"Good, I'm glad. It's not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow."

"What do you mean?" Dylan asked, "King's bastards, even Ferelden ones, usually get land, or a title, or something."

Alistair shook his head.

"Arl Eamon eventually married a young woman from Orlais, despite all the problems it caused with the king so soon after the war. He loved her a great deal. Anyway, the new Arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as the Arl's bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well. The Arlessa made sure the castle was not a home to me at that point. She despised me."

"Did she know the truth about you?" Ishafel inquired as they left the mouth of the woods and continued down the slope of the ridge. It hardly seemed fair to punish a child for being born. Then again, these were shem and this birthright business seemed rather important to everyone.

"She may have, but I think it's more likely that she feared the rumors might be true. I can't blame her for that."

Dylan looked at the man wonderingly. Oh yes, he could. Maker knew he held the templars responsible for making it so he could never go home. It was a strong man who could just let all that go.

"So there you have it. Now can we move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

Dylan smirked, "As you command... My prince." Newfound respect or not, it was fantastic to have a come back to the ongoing ribbing about jumping out of his skin at the sight of Sandal in the darkspawn helmet.

Alistair scowled at him. "Oh lovely, I'm going to regret this. Somehow, I just know it."

They looked ahead to see the rest of the party at the base of the road. A harried looking young man was speaking hurriedly to Michael. The expressions on his worn face vacillated between hope, panic and despair.

All and all, it did not look promising.

"We have a problem," Michael confirmed as they reached them. "It seems as the village is under attack."

"Attack?" Dylan frowned at the peaceful looking landscape. "Explain..."

"Tomas, ser. Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us til dawn. Everyone's been fighting... and dying. We've no army to defend us, no Arl and no king to send aid." The urgency left his voice replaced with exhaustion. "So many are dead and those left are terrified they're next."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Apparently, everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the perfect time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really."

Dylan couldn't help but agree. It was a problem, a real problem.

"Hold on. What is this evil attacking you?" He asked. Evil could be a lot of things, an with the look on young Tomas' face, this evil was probably magical in nature.

"I...I don't rightly know; I'm sorry. Nobody does." hope flickered in the man's eyes for a moment,

"Will you help us?"

Nobody said anything for a long moment. But it seemed enough for Tomas that they hadn't gone screaming back up the road. "I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you."

"Bann Teagan? Arl Eamon's brother? He's here?" Alistair asked. Ishafel wondered at the surprise in his voice.

"Yes, it's not far. If you'll come with me." Tomas replied eagerly.

Dylan's headache throbbed as they descended into the valley. At his shoulder, Ishafel spoke in low tones.

"I don't like this. The air here, it smells wrong."

Her voice was barely audible but his head lurched at the sound, he missed his footing and came very close to tumbling to the ground.

Ishafel's hand shot out and caught his shoulder, yanking him upright.

"Dylan? Are you well?"

Light flickered across his lids as the red ground before him flashed to the color of dead grass and back.

He knew the color, knew the texture of that ground. He was seeing into the fade. It shouldn't have been possible. Something was very wrong in Redcliffe.

"The Fade..." he managed to get out, before he stumbled again and this time Ishafel's considerable strength was not enough to keep him upright. She shouted in alarm as his center of gravity threatened to send them both tumbling down the steep cliff. Just as he was about to fall, he felt a strong arm catch him about the waist.

"Dylan, easy." Michael had to brace himself as the poor mage tumbled into him "Can you make it to the Chantry?" the words echoed, sounding hollow as he was pulled further into the fade.

"Out of my way."

There was a tingle of magic over his face and he was abruptly pulled back to reality. The headache gave way to a dull throb. After a moment, he was able to stand again only to see Morrigan scowling at him.

"Tell me, are you fond of tempting demons, or did you really not know that you need to shield yourself from tears in the Fade?"

"There isn't a tear anywhere I can sense."

Morrigan looked around defensively, as though she expected demons to pop out of the air at any moment.

"You are unusually sensitive, like myself." She told him, curbing the annoyance in her voice.

"The tear is a ways off, but quite large. A shield spell usually suffices. 'Tis a wonder you haven't be killed already. "

"It's never happened before." He said, voice raspy.

"Well, I doubt slaying the Archdemon will be a more than one time experience. Do you plan to be unprepared for that?"

She continued back down the cliff. Leaning on Ishafel and Michael for support, Dylan continued downward with grim concentration.

Why could he not sense the tear as Morrigan could? He had not been out of the tower much in his life, although other apprentices had, but he did have experience with Fade sunder. Even apprentices, carefully guarded by templars and senior mages, were called upon to help clean a harrowing gone awry.

He had cleaned up three, enough to know the pull and ebb of Fade unchecked. Even when he wasn't involved, he could still feel the unease of it from the bottom of the tower.

This was not normal. He reached out with his mana, and felt all the usual things, but without warning Ishafel and Alistair pulsed in his visual range. Ishafel was so strong, it was almost painful.

Was the taint to blame?

The pain in his head roared back with a vengeance. Tucking himself back behind his shield, lest he toppled over again, he decided to test his new theory at a better time, namely when he was on level ground. Thankfully, the trip to the Chantry and Bann Teagan was short and he could walk under his own power at the end of it.

It was obvious who the Bann was when they entered the room. He did not radiate command as some leaders did, but rather he was connected to all the hustle and bustle that went on around him, the calm in the center of the storm. It brought about an immediate, grudging respect from Ishafel. There were few enough people in the world like that, she wondered if the shems knew how lucky they were to have him.

The Bann's eyes latched on to them as soon as they entered the chantry.

"It's...Tomas, yes? And who are these people with you? They're obviously not simple travelers."

Tomas seemed tickled pink that the Bann knew his name. "No, my lord. They just arrived and I thought you would want to see them."

"Well done. Greetings friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the Arl... "

The Bann's eyes stuck on Michael's face as he looked at each one of them in turn. "Michael? Is that you?"

"Alive and whole, Teagan. Although, I'm sure Howe has told the Landsmeet otherwise."

"He claimed that your father was conspiring with the Grey Wardens to overthrow the king. Your family has been branded traitors; your lands forfeit. Howe has been granted the title and lands as a reward for special services to the regent. "

Michael's hands clenched. "My father was a loyal subject of King Calian to his last breath! It's Howe who is the traitor! Mother, Father, Sylpheira, Fergus... all dead because of him!"

Tegan put a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "I do not doubt you, Michael. None who knew Bryce Cousland would believe for a moment he would turn on his king and country. I presume you are here for my brother's aid?

"Yes, and I bring with me allies..."

Surprisingly, it was Alistair who spoke first. "I remember you Bann Teagan, though the last time we met I was a lot younger and... covered in mud."

Bann Tegaan looked astonished. "Covered in mud? …. Alistair? It is you, isn't?

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Does anyone else not wonder how he was able to identify Alistair so easily when given the description 'covered in mud'?"

Michael snorted and snapped his fingers. "So the mud is a Warden thing then, eh?"

Ishafel glowered at him, but was eclipsed by Alistair himself. "Yes, right, didn't we tell you? It keeps away the Archdemon, you ought to try it yourself"

He said it so caustically that it couldn't help but draw a chuckle from Ishafel. Michael was unperturbed.

"Huh, I'll pass" he said blandly.

Thankfully, Bann Teagan decided to get everybody back on track.

"This is wonderful news!"

Alistair scratched the back of his head. "Yes, well, I probably won't be alive much longer if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it.

Teagan's face darkened. "Indeed. Loghain would have us believe all Grey Wardens died along with my nephew, amongst other things."

Michael's eyes glinted dangerously. "Well, well, the man's been a busy bee. Waisted no time declaring himself, has he? And what does Anora say to having to share with daddy dearest?

Teagan shook his head. "The Queen keeps her own council, although she asked me not to interfere, I think she takes the threat of civil war more seriously than the regent.

"Always was a smart girl."

"You don't believe Loghain's lies?" Ishafel questioned.

"What? That he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory? He sniffed "Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murders of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man."

Teagan looked at Ishafel though he was seeing her for the first time. It was disconcerting how familiar being gawked at by male humans was becoming. Was an armed female elf really so unusual?

"So... you are a Grey Warden as well?"

She nodded. "Mahariel Ishafel," she motioned at Dylan "and Dylan Amell".

"A pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances. You are here to see my brother, I suppose. Unfortunately that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill." Teagan began to pace. "On top of that, no one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls and no one has responded to my shouts. These attacks started a few nights ago. Evil...things.. surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault. They came again the next night, and the next."

"What kind of evil things are you talking about? We have experience with dealing with evil things, all kinds."

"Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Alistair, Michael, I hate to ask but I desperately need the help of you and your friends."

"Rest assured, Teagan." Michael said unflinchingly, "You have my blades, come what may."

All traces of the flippant lordling had disappeared, and back was the battle hardened, calculating rouge Ishafel seen a trace of at the inn. Curious.

Alistair hesitated "It isn't just up to me," he told Teagan. "Though the Grey Wardens don't stand much chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon..."

Dylan sighed inwardly. Now _that _was a subtle as a brick though a chantry window.

"Of course we'll help." He said, now that Alistair had basically committed them. Ishafel nodded.

Morrigan let out a long-suffering sigh. "How pointless, to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One we think we had enough to contend with elsewhere."

"You are not daft or tactless, though occasionally you pretend to be." Dylan replied to her in a low voice only she could hear. "We need the Arl's support; and if something happens to the Arl, who do you think we will need to court?"

The words stilled in Morrigan's mouth "Very well, then."

"We should get started," Dylan addressed them all. "There is much to do before nightfall..."


	15. Part 3: Chapter 2: False Hope

_Author's Note: Recovering from a very bad case of writers block. Yet another chapter that did not go as planned. Thankfully, the next chapter is planned out, so there shouldn't be so much trouble. Thank you to my readers and reviewers! I hope you'll enjoy this update and leave me more wonderful reviews to help me combat writer's block. Super thank you to my beta, almostinsane, who is wonderful for getting this back to me in a matter of hours. Enjoy!_

_-Scarlet_

* * *

Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 2: False Hope

The soft sunlight was of no comfort as they exited the chantry. Ishafel did not care for the situation in more ways than one. The evil had the villagers trapped on all sides. She understood why the last stand was to be made in the chantry, as it was the only building strong enough to withstand a horde but the position of the building at the very base of the hill put them at a disadvantage.

Hopefully, this evil did not employ archers or mages.

The subtle creaking of heavy plate and a grumbled sigh emanated from her left side. Sten was facing pointedly away from the group, head angled so he was looking up the ridge, back from where they came. Meanwhile, Dylan and Michael were discussing the situation rather loudly with the village mayor, a position that must have been something like a Keeper, for he seemed to hold the unenviable tasks of saving them all from this mess.

Ishafel shifted towards Sten.

"We are wasting time." The complaint was not stated as an opinion, rather, it sounded very much like he was stating a fact.

She did not wholly disagree, better to take the survivors up the road and into the forest. Although, she looked up at the sun, it may have been too late in the day to make it somewhere safe by nightfall.

"You wish to leave?" she asked.

He gave her a measured look of disgust.

"Do you not? Tell me, how does this end the Blight? The humans here are farmers, not warriors. The witch was right, to have them fight is pointless, a slaughter, nothing more."

"We are here. We must do what can given the circumstances."

"No, you are Grey Wardens. It is your place to fight the darkspawn. What happens here shouldn't matter."

"We need the Arl to fight the darkspawn."

"Do you?"

Ishafel went silent for a moment, jaw working in frustration. She did not know what to say to this man to make him understand.

"A few weeks ago, I did not not know anything of the shem but how best to kill them should they attack my clan. I learned otherwise because it was my duty. We need the shemlen armies to defeat the darkspawn and we need to help these shem to get them. Means to an end. If you don't like it, find your redemption elsewhere", She snapped, "And let us do what needs to be done."

Sten made no reply so she left him there, totally unaware that she had risen in his esteem.

Dylan did not understand why anyone would want to make their home at the base of a cliff. It meant a steep climb or boating across Lake Calenhad to get out. Why would anyone want to go through all that trouble when they could have just as well built the village on the top of the cliff? There was no time for village planning now he supposed, as he and Morrigan, who had been trailing him since his harsh words the at chantry, huffed their way up the slope. A migraine flirted with the edge of his vision as he willed himself to sense the sunder in the veil in the same way one might probe an irritated tooth with their tongue.

"Is it your intention to harm yourself with pointless overexertion?" Morrigan's voice floated up behind him. "Or do you have some obscure motive I am merely unaware of?"

He ceased his labors with a frown and they climbed the hill together in near silence until Morrigan commented offhandedly, "'Tis strange for you then, not to be able to sense it?"

Dylan sighed internally. Of course she knew, it wasn't as though he had tried at all to be subtle about it.

"It is. I have never... been unprepared for something like that before. Not an experience I wish to repeat."

"Nor would I recommend it, I may not be there to save you next time."

Dylan bristled, but to his surprise her next comment was contrite.

"It is not my intention to offend." her voice almost sounded exasperated. "I have had such things happen to me before. 'tis most uncomfortable."

Dylan couldn't help but crack a smile. "You? Mistress of the Arcane?"

He didn't have to see her face to know she scowled. He slowed so they were walking side by side.

"Tell me, do the demons see you for what you are when you shapechange?" He asked.

She turned her pyrite eyes on him and he half expected a dirty look but instead he found her thinking.

"I do not know, I do not see any reason why they wouldn't." She gave him a quizzical look. "Why?"

Her 'why' was the first time she had spoke without an edge in her voice. It surprised him to hear how soft her voice was.

"And you sense them in the same way?"

She nodded, still looking at him, a question in her face.

"It could be useful. That's all."

She rolled her eyes, "You _are_ a funny little man."

By this time they had managed to trundle their way back to the top of that extremely annoying cliff. They headed straight to the man who was giving orders.

"Ser Perth, I presume?"

* * *

Aravels were universally better dwellings than human houses, Ishafel decided. Not that a Dalish would barricade themselves in their Aravel at a time like this, but if one of her kinsman had perhaps lost control of his mind, a dar'misan to the back of the leather covering would end the standoff in minutes. Shem dwellings, by comparison, were made of wood or stone and so when shems decided they didn't want anyone coming in, it was considerably harder to do so.

She knocked on the wooden door.

"Hello?" a slurred voice creeped through the woodgrain.

"I am a Grey Warden, I need to speak with you!" she shouted.

"Oh, go away. Leave me in peace. I told Murdock I'm not opening up unless..." the voice trailed off.

She turned her eyes skyward. Creators!

She could see Alistair laughing beside her through corner of her eye.

"And just when he was getting to the good part, right?" He chuckled. He pounded on the door with his own fist.

"Ser, please. It is important that we speak with you."

"Curse you. You've already taken everything in my stores. There is nothing left!"

"Why don't we take a different approach?" Leliana suggested serenely. She sidled up to the door. "Keep him talking."

Ishafel raised an eyebrow but knocked again, "Owen! Owen the blacksmith! Open this door! It is vital that we speak with you."

Leliana fiddled with the lock and then there was a depressing iron clink coupled with an "Oh drat."

"Hey now, what are you trying to pull?" Owen's voice was indignant. "I'll have you know, all the locks I smith are un-pickable!"

Behind them, Michael chuckled. "How many Wardens does it take to open a door?"

Ishafel glared at him."Oh, and I suppose you could do any better." She snapped.

"Maybe I could. Depends. What do I get for it?" He asked, a smirk on his face.

"How about the nice blacksmith repairs the militia's equipment and we all survive the night? That sounds like a proper reward" Alistair grumbled.

"Oh, but I'd get that anyway, that's no fun."

"How about I agree not to scoop your shem eyeballs out with my daggers?" Ishafel snapped again.

"And miss out on the fun of watching you try? No!" His mouth rounded in mock horror. It occurred to Ishafel that whenever she called someone an annoying shem for now on, she would be comparing them to Michael's flawless example.

"We haven't any time for games, Michael! What is it that you want?"

"A favor."

"A favor?"

"That's right. One that I can redeem at any time."

"Oh, that's all." Leliana laughed, her voice carefully neutral. "You want us to say yes to what your asking before you've even asked it."

Michael looked at Leliana, smiling, though there was a strange glint in his eye. "Yes, that's it."

"Fine." Ishafel said through gritted teeth. "You'll have your favor. Just open the damned door."

He gave her a look that was both victorious and disdainful at the same time. He flicked his hand, motioning for them to get out of the way. Michael's shoulders squared.

"Owen. Owen the blacksmith?" He asked.

"Oy, I told you..." Owen's voice floated through the door.

"Open this door right now. The Maker could give a damn what kind of lock you have on it! It will matter very little when I break it down!"

Michael's voice was so cold that Ishafel could swear by Anduril the temperature had dropped by several degrees.

There wasn't even a disparaging peep from the other side, just the click of the lock as it slid open.

Michael gave Ishafel a slow 'I told you so' smile, which she tried hard to ignore, looking straight ahead as they climbed into the smithy.

Leliana's nose wrinkled as the forge air hit her face. "Ugh! What is that smell? Smells like someone lit a brewery on fire!"

Owen slouched against a pillar, fingers loose around the neck of a liquor bottle.

"Somebody's been drin-king" Alistiar said in a singsong voice that almost caused Ishafel to smile.

She could understand why a man would want to be drunk right now. Understood it, but could not condone it.

"Alright. I let you in. Mind telling me who you are."

"I am Mahariel, a Grey Warden helping Bann Teagan."

The drunken man ambled forward. "Funny. You didn't sound like an elf through the door. A Warden, eh? I guess it takes all kinds."

Glassy eyes swept the group. "Name's Owen, though you probably know that. Come to join me in getting besotted? Or is there something in particular you wanted?

"Why have you locked yourself inside the smithy?" It was everything Ishafel could do to keep the word 'coward' from the sentence.

"It's my girl, Valena."

"Your daughter wished you to lock yourselves in?" she asked, head tilted in confusion. There appeared to be nobody else present in the room. Perhaps he was one of those drunks that saw ghosts. There had been a few of those in the Dalish camps, although they were usually mage-kind.

"No!" The man shook his whole head vigorously. "She's the Arlessa's maid. Trapped up in the castle, with the rest of them! And the mayor won't send anyone for her. She's been my whole life since her mother passed on two years ago. Now she's dead or soon will be. I don't care what happens to me or the village or anyone!"

The man recoiled at the anger in Ishafel's face. "Your daughter is in danger and you intend to drink yourself to death?"

"Why not? It's not like we're going to live past the night anyhow. Or are you going to save us?"

"Yes. I am."

"Is that so? Maybe it's the drink talking, but you sound like you actually believe that. It'd do me a world of good to think maybe someone like you could go in and find her."

"And what if she's dead?"

"It...would be better than going to my grave wondering."

Wonderful. More favors. She sighed deeply. It wasn't like she could hold it against the shem. She would have liked that sort of closure herself. To know truly that Tamlen was dead and there was nothing more she could have done.

"I'll do my best."

"Not good enough! Murdock said the same damn thing and I didn't believe him either. I want a promise. _Promise_ me that you'll look for her, that you'll bring back to me if you can."

"What's to stop us from lying to you?" Michael stirred from his perch at the doorframe.

Owen glared at him, or at least tried to. It appeared that the smallest of movements was threatening to send him sprawling to the ground. How could a man so thoroughly sozzled forge anything?

"Nothing besides your conscience. You got one of those?"

"That is an insulting thing to ask." Michael shot back, all ruffled feathers and indignation. Ishafel fought the urge to snort. He hadn't actually answered the question.

"Then I'll take what I can get and leave the rest to the Maker's grace."

Ishafel sighed even longer this time, before looking into the depths of Owen's drink addled eyes.

"I promise you: I'll find her."

He nodded and shot a nasty look at Michael over Ishafel's head.

"I'll accept that. It's something to hope for, at least. And I suppose there's no point in me sitting around, is there. Time to re-light the forge and get the smithy going, hey? Murdock will be pleased."

They left Owen to bumble in the forge.

"Should you have promised that? There is no way to know if you'll be able to find hide or hair of the girl." Michael asked. It was possibly the first time that he had addressed Ishafel without meaning to insult.

"If we can't find her, then he has his answer. He's right. It's better than not knowing."

"Is it? You have a man in there laboring under false hope."

"How exactly do you know it's false?"

"You practically told him you could save his daughter. You have no idea what you are walking into, Ishi."

"And you practically told him I was a liar. I intend to do all I can."

"Ah, but that is not what you said you would do."

"What do you want me to do, Michael? Not look for her? Not give that poor Shem coward a chance at seeing his daughter again, alive or dead? Even you could not be so cruel."

His lack of response and subsequent glower made it clear that her comment had hit it's mark. She turned away.

"The girl is obviously dead." Michael said to her back, "And instead of letting that man grieve, you spur him on with false hope. I am not the one who is cruel, Ishafel."

She whirled around to face him. The unabashed fury on her face making the lines of her vallaslin leap out.

"Should we roll over then? Should we let whatever unspeakable horror that is going to come through that gate kill us without lifting a finger because you have decided that we are not worth saving? Do you really think that survival is such a thankless task? I, for one, do not intend to die here!"

"Enough!"

Ishafel and Michael both jumped out of their skins. Neither had heard Dylan approach.

"I may not know much about battle, but I do know that the two of you are scaring the men. Morale is Maker-damned important. Murdock says that there is a mercenary, Dwyn, who lives on the river that won't come out. Michael, you and Leliana go and get him to change his mind. Alistair says you have a knack for getting people to open locked doors.

Leliana tugged at his arm, and Michael turned away from Ishafel, with one last disgusted "Hmpph."

"I've sent Sirius and Sten to the river to gather more poultice ingredients for Morrigan and myself. Which leaves the three of us to convince Mother Hannah to confer the Maker's protection on the knights."

"The what?" She asked

Dylan shrugged. "Ser Perth seems to think that the Revered Mother has some way of calling down holy protection and would like us to get it for the knights."

Ishafel pursed her lips. "Does she?"

Dylan shrugged again.

Ishafel shook her head when the Revered mother confirmed her suspicions.

"What Ser Perth desires is not in my power to give."

"Can't you just tell them the Marker will watch over them? Morale is a powerful thing, you know."

"But it would be a lie and a handicap if the men were to rely on it. We do not need false hope."

Ishafel replied. The Mother nodded, deferring to her.

There, Ishafel thought proudly. Let Michael call me cruel now!

"It would not really be a handicap. A confident man attacks more swiftly and surely than a frightened one. " Dylan reasoned.

"It's not unlike what you yourself did at the smithy," Alistair pointed out. "Do you really think at this point there is a chance that young woman is alive?"

"What happened at the smithy?" Dylan inquired curiously

"What do you mean? I told that man I would find his daughter. Alive or dead."

"You promised him you would tear the castle apart to bring his daughter back to him in order to get him to work. Don't you think he believes she will come back alive?"

"This... this is different. He would not have forged the weapons we all need to survive! These men are already willing to fight, we should not do that will a disservice by telling they are safe when they are not!"

Both men looked at Ishafel with doubt and reservation. It was perhaps ironic, given her last visit to a chantry, that it was Mother Hannah who stood up for her.

"The girl is right. Faith, for better or worse putting oneself in the hands of the Maker, that is never misplaced. But saying something when you know it isn't so, that is lying, dear boys."

"If you will forgive my bluntness, Revered Mother. Lying to a man to get him to swing a sword so that others may live seems a worthy cause."

"Ah, but he will swing the sword anyway. Why not tell a better lie? Why not tell them you know the Arl is alive? Or that you have heard word." The Mother's voice brooked no argument and to her own surprise, Ishafel found a healthy measure of respect for the old woman.

Dylan huffed and puffed, but in the end acquiesced.

"Very well," he grumbled. "I will inform Ser Perth. I only hope the men's morale can take such a blow."

To Ishafel's surprise, the Mother turned to her. "You are of elven blood and stranger, yet you defend a home that is not your own. We are grateful."

Ishafel awkwardly shifted from foot to foot. It felt strange to be thanked by a shemlen and one of the shem religion besides. It had always been the religious that were most zealous in the removal of her people from campgrounds across the Brecilian.

"I cannot stand by while monsters attack the helpless." She offered by way of explanation.

Mother Hannah shook her head. "Not many would honestly say the same. You are a woman of worth and the Maker will smile upon you."

"I- I do not believe in your Maker." she said, unsure of herself.

"That does not stop him from smiling on you." She said, and smiled herself, Ishafel simply nodded and made for the chantry exit, with the odd feeling that she had just received some sort of blessing.

She didn't get to the door before the air was permeated by wailing and followed by an extremely irate Morrigan's opinions on girls who didn't hold their tongues.

She wondered briefly of the wisdom of putting Morrigan in such close quarters with normal humans. Maybe it was Dylan's idea of a joke.

Morrigan's worktable was heaped with plants, some recognizable, some not. She worked mechanically, managing to both whip a sobbing woman into a frenzy and slam a healing poultice down with the others she had completed at the same time.

There was still much to be done.

* * *

The sun was dusting the edge of the horizon when Ishafel finally stumbled into the tavern, followed by Sirius and a sopping wet Michael at her heels.

Dylan sat rather comfortably, considering the circumstances, on a bench in a well lit corner of the tavern reading his book. Alistair and Leliana were having some sort of conversation, a highly amusing one if the her giggles and his indignant stammering were anything go by, about Templars.

"Michael? What in the Maker's name happened?" Leliana exclaimed, pulling him out of his reading.

"He lost his footing by the lake, clumsy shemlen." Ishafel answered for him.

Dylan lowered his book and examined them both critically from the edge. Ishafel wore a smug expression that bespoke of behavior far worse than she would admit. Michael on the other hand seemed properly chastised, for once. While he shot daggers at her with his eyes, he kept his mouth shut.

Conclusion: Michael may have had help losing his footing.

"You ought to be more careful." Alistair mock chided, "Wouldn't want to end up muddy, someone might mistake you for a Warden.

Ishafel and Alistair traded smirks. Michael looked as though he would have been quite content to leave them both bound and gagged in the direct path of the unspeakable evil.

Satisfied, Dylan went back to his book as Michael stomped over to the bar, and had Bella fussing over him in minutes.

"So what really happened?" Alistair whispered.

Ishafel continued to smile a little too wide to be innocent and reclined on the bench. "Exactly what I said happened."

There were grumblings from the bar.

Dylan turned the page. Well, it was nice to see Ishafel enjoying herself at least.

Battlemagic was incredibly complicated, but he was beginning to think he had the first spell understood. Now he just needed to field test it, if he ever got the time...

The grumbling rose to shouts and finally to the barman, of all people, running out of the bar.

Another quick glance over the edge of his book revealed Michael, still damp, was being enthusiastically thanked by Bella, his bruised ego well on the way to being soothed.

Pride restored, despite the fact he was still sopping wet, he rejoined the group in their corner and plopped down next to Ishafel, recounting smarmily that he had gotten the barman, Lloyd, to help the militia leaving the lovely (his words) Bella in charge. He had also managed to wrangle them a steep discount. Perhaps if she focused her efforts on getting wet, instead of muddy, she could do something similar, he suggested. Dylan was disturbed at the level of anticipation on Michael's face as he attempted to rile her. Still, he didn't think she would attempt to stab anyone in here, lest the militia take it the wrong way.

As luck would have it, Ishafel completely ignored himl she was focusing. Slightly put out, he followed her gaze. The temperature in the room in the room suddenly dropped several degrees.

"See something you like?" he remarked offhandedly, his voice tinged with something that made Dylan's eyebrows hit his hairline. He lowered his book to look at Michael.

Ishafel, brows furrowed in contemplation was staring rather single-mindedly at a city elf sitting by his lonesome in a corner. Michael's entire body had gone tense and was looking at Ishafel with a gaze that bordered on possessiveness.

Dylan fought the urge to smack his book into his forehead. Maker help them, Michael was jealous! He was beginning to seriously regret allowing the Cousland join up with them. Clearly, the man had not spent enough time around Ishafel if he thought _that_ piercing gaze heralded amorous intentions. Then again, the man had spent two days insulting a woman who he was apparently interested in. Maybe he was just insane.

Rather than answering, Ishafel rose and strode toward the elf with that Maker given purpose that had started the bar brawl in Lothering. Dylan let out a long suffering sigh and closed his book. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"What do you know of that elf over there?" He asked Bella as she freshened his mug of ale.

"Not much. He's very quiet. Says his name's Berwick, and he's here to meet his brother, but I think he's lying. He's a bit... creepy"

Ishafel stopped by the bench and crossed her arms, never once wavering from her objective.

"Not looking for company." The other elf pointedly avoided her eyes.

"Strange finding another elf here," Ishafel commented.

"We have nothing in common; you're Dalish." He replied, chancing a glance at her, before continuing to stare at the nearby wall.

"We're still both elves aren't we? The only two in Redcliffe." Something was off here and she was determined to know what.

"I'm not here to talk. Just leave me to drink alright? I just want to be left alone."

The banter between them looked as though it was proving ineffectual, but Dylan trusted her instincts; there was something odd about Berwick to say the least and Redcliffe was full up on odd at the moment. He rose to join them.

"I hear you're Berwick." Hearing Dylan say his name gave him a start.

"What? How did you know that? Errr... Well... that's my name. Why?" He was far too nervous to just be a traveler. So what was he?

"You seem awfully nervous. Why is that?"

"I...no reason. I just didn't know how you knew my name that's all."

"You said you were waiting for your brother?"

"My what? Oh yes, he was suppose to meet me here. And then I got stuck here when the monsters from the castle attacked."

"Strange that you didn't try to leave. You want you brother to be drawn into this as well?"

"Uhhh, no...those who have tried are dead..."

"Look you're both very nice and all, but I was told to ...er.. just leave me alone!"

Ah, and there was the slip.

"Those sound like the words of a spy." Leliana said grimly, blocking the only exit for the stammering elf.

"Your powers of deduction appear to be spot on, Miss Leliana." Michael agreed coming to stand at Ishafel's side. "You could learn a thing or two from such an astute lady, Ishi."

Ishafel fought down a nasty retort. Wasn't she the one who had singled him out?

"This will be easier if you just tell us what you're hiding," Michael informed the elf, who had turned the color of freshly laundered bedsheets. That cold, jealous tone was still in his voice. Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes and ask the Maker for mercy.

"If I...? But I never...Oh, all right I'll tell you! Just don't hurt me. This is more than I bargained for. Look, they just paid me to watch the castle and to send word if anything should change. But they never said anything about monsters! I haven't even been able to report anything since this started. I'm stuck, same as you, I swear!"

The poor man was completely undone; he was even wringing his hands.

"Who are "they"? Who hired you to do this?" Ishafel probed.

"A tall fellow, I forget his name. He, uhh, said her was working for Howe. Arl Rendon Howe. He's an important man, Teyrn Loghain's right hand! So I didn't do anything wrong!

Michael went still.

"What were you supposed to watch the castle for?" He asked, cutting off Ishafel.

"Just to report any changes,"

Ishafel raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Honest! All I could send word about was the Arl getting sick. After that, monsters started coming from the castle."

"How do we know you are telling the truth?" Michael asked, his voice a hiss.

"Here this is a letter from them. It has instructions and everything...Keep it! Do what ever you want with it! I just thought I was serving the king and making a bit of coin on the side. You have to believe me."

"I think you should help defend Redcliffe tonight," Ishafel informed him icily.

He sprang to his feet "All... All right. I'll do it. Thank you for your mercy, I won't forget it!"

Michael poured over the correspondence. "This is it, this is the proof I need to show the Bannorn that Loghain and Howe are the true traitors. They must have something to do with all this!"

Dylan sighed. "All that paper proves is that Howe was having Eamon watched. Nobles do that quite often, don't they?"

"In Oralis, nobody would bat an eyelash at such goings on." Leliana agreed.

"They have him watched, and then he falls ill? It's a real big coincidence, isn't it? he snarled. "Surely the banns..."

"It doesn't clear your family, Michael. You will need much more than that, I think." Leliana placed an understanding hand on her his shoulder. "The opportunity will present itself, I'm sure."

He shrugged her off.

Sten opened the door. "There is a mist rolling down from the castle. It is green." He said matter of factly. "Battle is upon us."

"Bella, get yourself down to the Chantry now. There's no time for that!" Michael shouted as she reached for the keys, "Run as fast as you are able, now!"

She didn't even pause to shut the door.

Dylan tore out the door, Leliana close behind him. "Is the oil in place?" he bellowed up the hill.

Michael moved to follow, but was stopped by a hand at his elbow.

Turning, he found Ishafel looking him intently with those dark eyes of hers.

"Survive now, seek revenge afterwards. It is not false hope you have, you will restore your family." She moved in front of him joining Dylan in heading towards the knights.

"Do not get distracted!" She shouted back at him.

He shook his head to clear it as he jogged down to join the men at the chantry.

It was good advice.


	16. Part 3: Chapter 3: More Problems

_Author's note: Thankfully, no more writers block! A big thank you to RatedRSuperStar87 and Infamous227 for their wonderful reviews, thank you to my fantastic beta: Almostinsane and of course a big thank you to all you wonderful people who have reviewed so far. Reviews make me smile, make me type faster and make Ishafel not kill Michael. A note on pairings, since a lot of you have asked. The parings in this story are, well, complicated. They are also highly plot orientated, so if I tell, It'll ruin the suspense and other plot points in the story. Eventually, it will all become clear. Which is probably not what you want to hear and I apologize.__ I hope you all enjoy this chapter_ and leave me lots of reviews! If you don't wish to review publicly feel free to PM me, I don't bite =)

_-Scarlet_

* * *

Because it's been awhile: I do not own Dragon age: Origins, Thedas, ect. (but I wish i did!)

Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 3: More Problems

Dylan raised his staff to light the oil barrels, both to stop the evil and to signal the militiamen below to be ready even before he was all the way up the cliff. Ishafel streaked past him, bow drawn and had her feet planted as the first creature fumbled towards the barricades.

Without pausing to think about it, she fired an arrow at the shadowy hulking form.

The bolt passed through, landing in the ground beyond with a thunk.

"Cor! Did you see that?" One of the knights said under his breath, panicking.

The creature continued to shamble toward the fire and was suddenly illuminated, to ghastly results. Ishafel let out an elven explicative.

"Undead," Dylan confirmed. He gathered a bolt of energy in his staff and sent it flying into the shambling skeleton. The creature shattered on impact. As the horde began to pour down the road, he shouted last minute instructions.

"Aim for the head! The skull is where the spell should be stored!"

It occurred to him that in the future, if there was a future, he ought to force a detailed description of the current nameless horror from the besieged. Fire wouldn't exactly stop the undead, just turn them into flaming undead. As it was, the knights of Redcliffe seemed to be backing away slowly, tails between their legs. He cursed internally. He should have forced Mother Hannah to give them a blessing of some sort.

Ishafel nocked another arrow, she gave a moments pause as she aimed it, and then let it fly. The arrow struck the spine of undead squarely, knocking his skull off. The corpse dropped like a stone.

"For Redcliffe!" She cried.

Thankfully, Her rally cry seemed to bring the knights to their senses. They suddenly charged the undead threatening to break through the barricade.

"For Redcliffe!" Ser Perth echoed, "For the Arl!"

It could have been hours or minutes, nobody was sure, until the last corpse on the castle road fell. Ishafel was breathing hard, her quiver half empty and a neat row of corpses leading almost up to her position. Similarly, there was a large circle of undead, electricity still jumping from body to body, surrounding a rather drained looking Dylan. Indeed the only man looking more or less as he normally did was Dywn, who was muttering something under his breath about humans having no stamina.

Still, it appeared that the tide had been pushed back.

"Well," Ser Perth began, "that was..."

A frantic messenger scrambled up the hill. "The lake, they're attacking from the lake!"

Dylan whirled towards the water. He hadn't expected that, although he hadn't known to expect undead. It was a very good thing the both the Bann and Ishafel had insisted having the main force protect the chantry doors. Ishafel spirited down the hill, firing off arrows as she went.

"Knights! Guard the path!" He shouted before following suit. Maker, but that woman was fast! If he lived through this she was teaching him how to run like that!

Ishafel slammed into the battle blow like a fury. She barely had time to switch bow for dagger. The first two undead she felled took no notice of her, she was too quick. There was a terrified shriek somewhere to her right. Lloyd, the barkeep that Michael had cajoled into battle, was separated from the main group, closest to the lake, and fending off four undead on his own. Shouldering through the crowd, she tried to reach the man as he swung his rusty mace wildly. An undead got in her way, then a solider. There was a flash of red on her left and an arrow pierced through an undead head. A hunk of rock bulldozed two more out of the way. Ishafel finished off the rest, but Lloyd was still beating a corpse of a corpse with his mace well after it expired.

"It's dead", he said finally. She didn't really have anything to say to that. The man looked terrified and there was no place for comforting during battle.

"Stay with the group." she reminded him before whirling back into the fray. The assault was vicious and the undead were attempting to flank them, if the shadows on the cliff were any indication.

"Ishi! watch out!" She didn't have time to let the warning register before Michael had reached her, punched his arm out over her shoulder and stabbed his dagger neatly into through a creature's eye socket, destroying the skull. The bones clattered to the ground.

"You really need to be more careful." He chided.

Ishafel's dar'misan sailed by his ear a second later and the corpse sneaking up behind him hit the dirt.

"Now we're even." She said primly, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics.

The grin he gave her was positively feral. He grabbed her forearm and swept her away from an offending creature coming up on her right. He lunged and spun, neatly decapitating the thing. In response, Isahfel ducked a swinging greatsword and brought up her dar'misan up through the undead's ribcage to smash it squarely through the top of the skull. She raised one thin eyebrow at Michael as he observed her work, and smirked.

"Now don't get smug." He groused. "They're not all dead yet. Well, dead-er."

Dylan was barely able to keep his mana replenished he was casting spells so quickly. Sirius barked encouragement as he leapt to savage another boney throat. The nabari had taken up a position by him as soon as he came down from the castle road. It was a good thing too, that dog had saved his life more times now than he'd care to acknowledge. The undead were not abating, some of the corpses even looked years old, as though they had been dragged up from bottom of the lake. Maker knew what else was down there. The militiamen were looking worn and bodies were beginning to pile up.

Something had to be done.

Across the field, Morrigan watched him. How curious, he was losing mana far too quickly, even for such an intense fight.

Here goes, well it's certainly not nothing, he thought as he completed the spell. At first, nothing happened and then he felt a mighty surge of energy around him. White wisps latched onto the undead skeletons, sucking them dry. In turn, the energy was converting into mana, coursing into his empty well like rain on parched earth.

He fought the urge to throw back his head and holler. This felt great! Renewed, he slammed a particularly strong bolt of energy into three corpses at once blowing them to bits. It was then he realized, a bit dejectedly, that there was nothing else to kill.

Why did he wait to the end of the battle to cast the awesome spell?

The sun broke on the horizon. The militia men cheered. Their lives were saved.

And Dylan Amell was thoroughly put out.

* * *

"Dawn arrives, and we have survived the night. We are victorious!"

Ishafel noticed with regret that the crowd was quite smaller than it should have been, but the cheer they let out was genuine.

"Though this victory came at great cost, we must remember none of us would be here were it not for the good folk beside me. Thank you, my friends. Truly the Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in out darkest hour," Teagan announced.

"We were happy to help." Dylan said, "We're Wardens, it's what we do."

Sten sighed audibly. Thankfully, Mother Hannah took over with a prayer, and then Teagan began to speak again.

"With the Maker's favor, the blow we delivered today is enough for me to enter the castle and seek out your Arl! Be wary and watch for signs of renewed attack. We shall return with news as soon as we are able." Teagan turned to the group. "Now, we've no time to waste. I'm sorry to ask more of you so soon, but ready yourselves and meet me at the mill as soon as you are able. We don't know how long this peace will last."

It was agreed, largely through dark looks and bickering between Ishafel and Michael, that they need some time to prepare for what was to come. Exhausted from the fight and his new spell, Dylan took a moment to sit on a crate next to the chantry wall. Predictably, his mana was taking much longer to regenerate than usual.

"'Tis most unusual, that spell you cast. I have never seen it's like." Morrigan stood over him, blocking the rising sun and providing most welcome and attractive shade. She shoved something right under his nose and he barely had time to catch it before she dropped it and moved to sit beside him. A lyrium potion, Thank the Maker and all the saints that came after! He took a grateful gulp.

"A spell of Entropy, perhaps? Though I have made quite of study of it myself and not come across such thing."

He grinned mischievously. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, more interesting and frustrating to a mage than a spell they could not place. He had once seen a senior enchanter literally rip her hair out by the roots trying to figure out how a rival had manged to triple the potency of his spellward.

Morrigan gave him a sweet smile from her perch that had nothing to do with kindness.

"It's quite marvelous, isn't it? It's called Aura."

"And does it normally continue to drain your mana well after it's been cast?"

"Eh?" He hadn't seen that coming. "What do you mean?"

Her smile stayed in place, although it turned decidedly smug. "Have you not yet noticed that large chunks of your mana are being siphoned?"

Dylan shut his eyes and breathed deep, allowing his mind to drift into his own inner reserves. Sure enough there was a pull, it was discreet enough that he had mistaken it for weariness from the spell.

It worried him deeply. He was not usually this careless.

He followed the pull and found a thread of spell left. No, that wasn't right. It was the entire spell but stretched thin, receding into the lake and beyond.

Morrigan's voice boomed in his head. "Hold still, I'm going to sever it." There was a burning pain in his mana well. The spell came loose and a cry of rage reverberated down the thin cord. Dylan could feel the echo as Morrigan released the spell and the creature lost it's meal ticket.

"You have my thanks." He said quietly, no longer enjoying the sun. He was out of the tower not a month and he had already nearly succumbed to the Fade and Maker knew what twice.

Morrigan's look was hawkish, but underscored with concern. "Did they not teach you to look out for leeches ib the tower? They are quite common."

Of course he knew of leeches, theoretically. Everybody did. Demons that, rather than engaging or overwhelming a mage, would wait in the shadows of the Fade and latch onto a spell when a mage was distracted, draining them over time. Truly clever demons had the ability to leech for years and the mage might never catch on. It was one of the first thing tower apprentices were taught, and yet there were so many templars surrounding the Circle Mages that no leech would dare come near. They were scavengers, not fighters. Skills not practiced are often lost and Dylan had not practiced the safeguards for repelling leeches in years.

"It was never an issue." he said contemplatively.

She snorted. "Truly, 'tis a wonder you were not all possessed ages ago."

Indeed.

"I suppose this is all commonplace for you. Tears in the fade, leeches, the like." He replied.

"Of course. Flemeth made it very clear to me at a young age what would happen if I was not vigilant, both with my magic and in the Wilds."

"Did you ever wonder what life was like outside the Wilds, stuck at Flemeth's hut as you were?"

"Do we not have more important things to do at the moment?" She asked in a tone something like a retort.

He motioned to Ishafel, who had made herself comfortable on the ground and de-strung her bow. She was busily checking wood of the the stave for impurities. She had a fresh bowstring coiled beside her and a pile of salvaged arrows awaiting inspection. It was clear she wasn't going in until she was prepared. Beside her, or rather in the same general area, Sten worked on his greatsword while Sirius took a welcome nap in between them.

"Do you want the same lecture she gave Michael? I think Leliana is still trying to get him out of that shrub. Besides, I think you'll agree fighting the demon that caused all this requires a full mana well."

"Why do you ask me such questions? I do not probe you for pointless information, do I?" she whined.

Dylan watched Ishafel run her fingers down the length of the shaft thoughtfully. "I'm curious. What's wrong with that?"

Morrigan let out a chuckle. "Any number of cats could inform you of the answer to that question. But have it your way. I did wonder. In time, I left the Wilds to explore what lay beyond. Never for long. Brief forays into a civilized wilderness,"

"And you managed to remain unnoticed?" Ishafel's questioning voice floated up from the ground. Morrigan inclined her head outward, as though she was throwing her words to the Dalish elf.

"For the most part. Flemeth taught me well. For all that I had been taught, however, the truth of civilized lands proved to be... overwhelming. I was unfamiliar with so much. So confident and bold was I, yet there was so much that Flemeth could have never prepared me for."

Dylan grinned widely. "Very daring, that sounds like you."

Morrigan laughed and gave him a true smile this time. "Equal parts daring and foolhardy, perhaps."

"I recall the first time I crept beyond the edge of the Wilds. I did so in animal form, remaining in the shadow and watching these strange townfolk from afar. I happened upon a noblewoman in her carriage, adorned in sparkling garments the likes of which I had never before seen, I was dazzled. This to me seemed what true wealth and beauty must be. I snuck up behind her and stole a hand mirror from the carriage. 'Twas encrusted in gold and crystalline gemstones." Dylan watched Morrigan's face light up at the memory and gave a half smile, trying to imagine the witch as a child. "I hugged it to my chest with delight as I sped back to the Wilds."

And the creature who lived in it, he mused. "What did Flemeth say? I can't imagine she was pleased."

Morrigan's wince confirmed his thoughts.

"She was not. She was furious with me. I was a child and had not yet come into my full power and I had risked discovery for the sake of a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, Flemeth took the mirror and smashed it upon the ground. I was heartbroken."

Ishafel paused for a moment in her work, the two mages could only see the halt in the sway of her cap of black hair. "But you were just a child." her tone was mournful. Dylan wondered how the Dalish must raise there children; she had treated all the children they had come across as treasures. And they were not even elven. She had practically stabbed Michael for talking a child out of a valuable family heirloom and gave the boy's sister such a sum of money for it that both he and Morrigan had twinged.

Morrigan frowned at the back of her head.

"And a foolish one. Flemeth was right to break me of my fascination. Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as difficult as they might have been."

Ishafel was still for a moment, as was Sten, surprisingly. Her shoulders lifted and receded in a shrug. Without a word she returned to work.

"They made you stronger, didn't they?" Dylan understood. For a mage outside the Circle survival and escape from detection must have been the whole world to her.

"They did, indeed. I find myself at times wondering what might have become of the girl with the hand mirror... but such fantasies have no place amidst reality."

He was about to reply, when she said rather abruptly. "Come, your mana well is full and we are wasting time.

Ishafel glanced over the stave again and had half a mind to ask the shem blacksmith if he had anything left that would do better. Master Ilen was an expert craftsman, but she highly doubted he ever planned for a flaming undead corpse to take a bite out of the stave. It was sound, for now, but there was a give in the wood she didn't like. As much as it pained her, she would have to keep an eye out for a new one. Resolving to wait a little longer, she restrung the bow and checked over the arrows, snapping the flawed ones to be sure they wouldn't find their way into less competent hands.

Leliana and Michael exited the smithy together, Leliana lovingly caressing a beautiful longbow with fancy spirals along the stave. "I still cannot believe he had a Orlesian style bow! She is beautiful."

Michael was looking at her with that odd look again. "Miss Leliana, you are so well versed in Orlesian weaponry it boggles the mind."

Immediately and almost imperceptibly, her manner changed. "Oh, but I was traveler in Orlais, and such things were common in the marketplaces there.

"A traveling minstrel with Orlesian training?" Michael gave her an insincere smile. "Sounds something I heard in a tale once."

"Oh! When we have time, you must tell me! I love stories." She skipped off to join Dylan and Morrigan at the bottom of the hill. Ishafel turned to follow, but Michael grabbed her arm, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. His breath tickled her skin.

"How much do you know about her, exactly?" he asked.

"Why?" She asked as she tried to pull away. He held her fast.

"Just so you know, traveling minstrels in Orlais are almost always spies."

Her blood went cold.

"I thought there was something off about her from the beginning. A Dalish elf and a mage fresh from the circle wouldn't know what to look for. But the signs are there."

"She was a chantry sister when we found her. There was no way for her to know we were coming."

His chuckle was breathy. "She knew who you were right? Insinuated her self into the group? Insisted on traveling with you?"

"So did you."

He chuckled again, hot breath ran down her neck. For a reason she couldn't place, or didn't want to, her heart sped up.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed, Ishi. It would be a shame for the last Wardens in Ferelden to be slaughtered by a wolf in sheep's clothing in the middle of a Blight." He pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear almost unconsciously, fingertips bushing the point. "I don't want to see you get hurt. That's all."

"Ishafel! Michael!" Dylan stood at the base of the hill, his eyes were locked on Michael. "Let's go. Now."

Michael peeled himself away, and was almost to Dylan's position before Ishafel started to walk.

Dylan hung back from the rest of the group as they climbed the hill to meet Bann Teagan, walking besides a grim looking Ishafel.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly.

"Hm?" She looked at him distractedly and the involuntary frown on his face deepened. Ishafel didn't get distracted.

"Are you alright?" He repeated, "Did he...What did he say to you?"

She through back to the insinuation, his breath tickling her neck.

"Nothing that can't be dealt with later." She sighed, "Let's focus on finding the Arl."

Dylan made a sound low in his throat that was not quite a growl and not quite a grunt, but it was definitely a sound of frustration. He did not like the grateful look on her face when Bann Teagan interrupted him. He broke away from her and moved to stand by Morrigan. Ishafel watched him go, only vaguely aware of the Bann's plan. She was brought back by Michael's squeal of annoyance.

"A hidden tunnel? Really, Teagan! Why didn't you just tell us about this yesterday! I could've been in and out well before our delightful soiree with those demonic horrors."

"We had no idea what was in there-"

"We have no better picture now. Those undead were not only from the castle." Morrigan interrupted languidly.

The Bann's nose winkled in aggravation.

"The town was not secure. Now, when we enter the castle-"

"Teagan!"

A new voice, unmistakeably Orlesian, cut him off. A woman in silks practically tripped over her expensive garb as she ran from the castle, trying to reach the Bann. A clumsy solider ambled after her.

"Oh, Teagan! Thank the Maker!" She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms about his neck. In turn Teagan embraced the frantic woman in surprise.

"Isolde?"

She didn't stop for pleasantries.

"I do not have much time to explain!" she rambled, her voice bordering on hysterics "I slipped away from the castle as soon I could and I must return quickly. And I...need you to return with me Teagan. Alone."

"Careful" Dylan said, looking over the mussed noble critically. "This could be an ambush."

Isolde gave Dylan a look that promised fire and damnation. He was very certain it was the textbook "disgusted Orlesian noble" look.

"What- who is this man, Teagan." She demanded.

"I'm sure you remember me, Lady Isolde." Alistair said with disdain. Ishafel moved toward him, discreetly squeezing his hand in support.

"Alistair, what are you doing here?"

Teagan motioned to Dylan and the others. "If it were not for their help, Isolde, I would not be here. I owe them my life."

"Pardon me...considering the circumstances..." Isolde's expression changed to contrition, but there was something in her eyes that Ishafel did not like. Her gaze darted to Dylan. Thankfully, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Teagan, thankfully, seem like the kind of shem who was on the brighter side. His face was furrowed as he tried to wring answers from her.

"Please, Isolde... we had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some explanation!"

She bit her lip, properly chastised. " I...don't know what is safe to tell. There is a terrible evil within the castle, Teagan."

Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes. More unspeakable evil and terrifying horrors; couldn't anybody just describe what the were actually seeing" 'oh, it's a shambling corpse' or 'A bearskarn is attacking me, help!' He was tired of walking into battle unprepared because people insisted on being obtuse.

"The dead waken an hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues. And I think...Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death! You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him, I do not know what else to do!"

Dylan hated hysterical women in general, but he hated lying, hysterical women even more. There was something about Isolde's story that didn't add up.

"What about the Arl? Does he still live?"

Isolde turned painfully hopeful eyes on him. "He does. He is being kept alive so far, thank the Maker."

"Kept alive?"

It was apparent from her face that Isolde had let something slip. Teagan blanched.

"Kept alive by what?

"Something the mage unleashed. So far it allows Eamon, Connor and myself to live, I do not know why. The others...were not so fortunate. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help."

"Do you think this evil could be some kind of demon?" Ishafel asked Dylan.

Isolde let out a moan, "Oh, Maker's Mercy!

Dylan ignored the wailing lamentations as he stroked his beard in thought.

"It certainly sounds like it could be." He looked at Isolde, eyes narrowed. "Why do I get the feeling you aren't telling us everything?"

"I..I beg you pardon! That's a rather impertinent accusation!" she snapped.

"Not if it's true." Michael retorted. It was clear that he didn't like hysterical women either.

Isolde looked like she wanted to scream, and she did.

"An evil I cannot fathom holds my son and husband hostage! I came for help! What more do you want from me! What if it thinks I am betraying it? It could kill my Connor!"

The resistance on Teagan's face crumbled. Ishafel didn't like where this was going.

"Why must Teagan go alone?"

"For Connor's sake, I promised I would return quickly and only with Teagan." She wrung her hands, reaching out to grab his sleeve. "Please Teagan, come back with me... must I beg?"

"Enough, woman," Michael snapped "We need to decide what to do!"

Teagan closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them they were clear and resolved."The king is dead and we need my brother now more than ever. I will return with you, Isolde."

"Oh, thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan! Bless you!"

Ishafel shook her head. Michael ran a hand through his hair. "This is a mistake, Teagan. You are going to get yourself killed!"

"I cannot let her return alone. Perhaps I can help Connor or Eamon. Perhaps this is really a trap, but this is my family, Michael. I must try." Teagan motioned to them, and Ishafel, Dylan and Michael moved away from the group. Leliana prevented Isolde from following by wrapping the woman in a warm hug and speaking kind words about the Maker's grace.

Clever, that.

"I have no illusions of dealing with this evil alone. You, on the other hand, have proven quite formidable. Here is what I propose: I go in with Isolde and you enter the castle using the secret passage. My signet ring unlocks the door."

He pressed a heavy ring into Ishafel's palm.

"Perhaps, I will distract whatever evil is inside and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?"

"Wouldn't it make more sense to bring Ser Perth and the others through this hidden passage as well?

"A small group will move quicker and is less likely to be noticed."

"Very well." Teagan nodded."Remember, Eamon is the priority. Myself, Isolde, we are all expendable."

Ishafel snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, what is the point of all the precautions if we don't intend to save everyone?"

"She's right," Michael agreed, a fierce look in his eye, "We'll not abandon you, Teagan"

"My friends, Truly the Maker smiled on me when he sent you to Redcliffe."

Tegan headed towards Isolde with a final farewell. In a moment they were over the rise and out of sight.

It was agreed that Sten and Sirius would lead the knights to the portcullis to wait, The rest of the party headed inside the unassuming windmill. The dark, musty interior smelled strongly of hay and grist.

"So where did Teagan say the passage was?"

"Uhh..." Michael, Ishafel and Dylan looked at each other. Before anyone could say anything, Leliana let out a sound of satisfaction, her boot slamming against a clearly hollow portion of the floor.

"Here we are. Not hidden well at all. It's a wonder other people don't know of this."

Ishafel handed her the signet ring and she swung the door back revealing a dark, foreboding hole.

"Well, who wants to go first?"

He felt two hand push him forward, it could only be Morrigan, and with an oof! Dylan fell into the passage with a thump. Thankfully, it was not too deep or wide and easily lit by a spell wisp. They followed the little ball of light forward to a door that led into a dank stone room lined with cells.

"The dungeon?" Leliana pondered "But of course, it is the same way in the tales, no? I wonder-"

Her musing was cut off by screaming that Dylan found oddly familiar. Hurrying down the corridor, he slammed a Stonefist into three corpses who looked to be harrying a prisoner. They fell to pieces on impact. It was so quiet, that Dylan thought they had managed to kill the poor sod.

"Hello, is someone there?"

He thought he must be hearing things for a moment. It couldn't possibility be who he thought it was.

He approached the cell hesitantly, not wanting to deal with what, or rather, who was inside. But of course he had heard right the first time.

"Thank the Ma- Dylan?"

"Jowan."


	17. Part 3: Chapter 4: Blind Faith

_This took longer to write than expected, and is largely a transitionary chapter. The fun part is that it's a transition into my first major (okay, second if you count having two heros, and Michael) cannon change. The next couple chapters will be mostly original plot stuff, not taken from the game and will mark a change in the relationship between Dylan and Ishafel. I had meant to add some of that to this chapter, but it was getting quite long and when I wrote the last sentence it felt like a good place to end it. Thank you to the reviewers from last time and for almostinsane for putting up with my inability to spell certain places correctly. Sorry about that XD. I hope, as always, that you enjoy the chapter and that you give me lots of reviews, even if it's just thumbs up. It gives me an idea of how I'm doing and helps me to pace the story._

_~Scarlet_

* * *

Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 4: Blind Faith

It seemed the Maker had a wicked sense of humor and He enjoyed laughing at Dylan's expense.

"Andraste's Flaming Sword! Jowan? _YOU_ caused all this? Of all the stupid, harebrained-" He snarled, "What happened to _'I only learned blood magic to protect us'_? Maker damned fool."

Morrigan stared at the whimpering man in puzzled disappointment. "This is a blood mage? Truly?"

"Dylan! It-it's not what you think! I just-"

"Oh, what in the bloody Fires of Tevinter is it exactly?" Dylan raised both arms skyward in exasperation. "Whatever happened to the grand plan of living on a little farm somewhere and _never using any magic ever again_? They were going to send me to Aeonar! Aeonar! With the thin veil and the soul sucking demons and the _inability to defend yourself against them_! Maker knows what happened to poor Lily with the chantry spiriting her away. I wouldn't be surprised if _she_ was in Aeonar now! You remember Lily? The woman you loved." His voice was rose to a fever pitch as all the things he had never been able to say bubbled out in a rage. "The only reason they let _me _go was because I was conscripted."

Dylan was so worked up he didn't see Jowan's face crumple at the mention of his former love's name.

He had actually thought, ignoring overwhelming odds to the contrary, that perhaps Jowan had escaped. Despite his rather blatant betrayal, perhaps somewhere he was remorseful for his crimes and was trying to start over. But here he was; in a dungeon! For however inadvertently, loosing a demon on Redcliffe.

He couldn't tell whether he had been simply naïve or a fool. Or both.

All they had done, the sacrifice he had consciously decided to make, thrown back at him like it was nothing. Well! He wouldn't make that mistake again. The look on his face must have been terrifying, he thought irritably, Jowan was flinching back from the bars.

"Dylan, this is not the time to be-" Leliana started, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The look he gave her was so searing that she drew away, frightened.

Ishafel drew her bow, sighing. "Would you like me to kill him?"

_That _pulled him out of his internal ranting.

"_What!_" Dylan and Jowan started at the same time.

"I was not aware you were betrayed." She said calmly. Her voice was like cold water in a forge, soothing the heated steel. "You have my sympathies. Among the Dalish, traitors, unless they prove themselves otherwise, are put to death. So I ask again, would you like me to kill him? Or do you simply wish to stand here volleying insults forever and increase our chances of being found?"

Jowan stood silently, waiting for Dylan to make up his mind. Ishafel's eyes darted to glance at him then at Dylan. Whatever would be said of the Blood Mage, it was clear the man had decided not to shrink from his fate, not this time.

Dylan closed his eyes against his own frustration. He wanted to want to kill Jowan, he wanted at least feel less of a fool, but killing Jowan wouldn't change anything. He sighed and Ishafel placed a steadying hand on his forearm.

"No, don't kill him." He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled and exhaled. "What are you doing here, Jowan?"

"I was only trying to help!" The apostate answered. "They told me-" The whine in the protest snapped Dylan's tenuous hold on his temper.

"Help! Since when has unleashing demons ever helped anybody! Do you even know what's happened here?"

Ishafel's grip on his arm tightened "Dylan... let him speak."

"Please." The pleading left Jowan's voice, replaced with an odd sort of reservation, "I know how it seems. Poisoning the Arl was a terrible thing, but I'm not the one who's behind everything else going on here."

"Is that what happened?" Michael lifted cold green eyes to stare angrily at the captured mage. "Can it be reversed?"

"I don't know." Jowan answered, shrugging "I was never any good at healing magic-"

"No, your skill was sucking the life out of things! Entropy, of all things! Poison, Jowan? _Really..._"

"Dylan..." Ishafel voice was soft but firm. He glowered at her as attempted to calm himself.

"You are- or were- a Circle Mage, no? What would you stand to gain, poisoning the Arl?" Leliana asked curiosity getting the better of her. She had moved beside Michael, placing four people between herself and Dylan.

"The Templars caught me at the edge of the lake." Jowan look a deep breath as he remembered the scene "I thought I was going to die..."

"Would have served you right..." Dylan muttered. Jowan sighed.

"But then soldiers came, drove off them off."

"Soldiers? From the army? But common solders do not have authority over..." Leliana wondered aloud.

"They brought me to Teyrn Loghain. He said I would be doing a service for the crown. The Arl was a threat to the kingdom. He offered to fix things with the circle for me! All I wanted was to go back and...I thought I would be making up for what I did. To Lily. To you."

Jowan paused to catch his breath. Dylan let out his, unaware that he had been holding it. He laid his own hand on the one Ishafel was resting on his forearm. She looked up at the contact, all falcon-like fury and judgment, before training her eyes back on Jowan.

She would never betray him, he realized, for all he had known her a few weeks. They were in this together. That fact was pacifying.

"But why you of all people?" Leliana continued to try to make sense of the situation, "You are an apostate, yes, but I think the Teyrn would have more...experienced options at hand."

"I was hired as a tutor for the Arl's son. Connor had begun showing...signs. Lady Isolde was terrified that the Circle of Magi would take him away for training."

"Connor? A mage?" Alistair wasn't the only person who was surprised.

Jowan nodded. "She sought an apostate to train her son in secret so he could learn to hide his talent. The Arl had no idea."

Michael shrugged. "It's not all that uncommon actually. The nobles of Antiva and Orlais regularly do just that sort of thing." He snorted, "And Isolde is Orlesian after all..."

"But the Arl didn't know?"

Jowan shook his head. "She said he would do the right thing, no matter what the cost. She didn't want to lose her son." Remorse played on his face. "He was a good man, and a caring father."

"Understandable, if not incredibly misguided." Ishafel remarked. Michael smirked.

"What he really means, Ishi dearest, is that she did not want to lose the heir of Redcliffe. After all, they were only able to conceive the once. With Connor unable to inherit, Eamon would be in his right to put her aside to seek a younger, more fertile bride."

"You really believe that?" Dylan asked, nonplussed.

"I know it, and it makes sense. Why she would insist everything was Jowan's doing? She could blame him for infecting her son and no one would be wiser to the boy's talents. She could start again with someone new. Probably Orleisian"

"Connor tore the fade." Jowan explained.

"Obviously," Morrigan sent him a withering glance.

"But there is more to it than that." Dylan stroked his short beard in thought, "there has to be.

"What do you mean?" Jowan asked.

"Imagine you are a child with powers you've only just begun to understand. He said, teasing the thought from his mind, "Your beloved father is deathly ill and your mother powerless. How very helpless you must feel. How very vulnerable you must be. If somebody, or something came and said they could fix it all, make it how it used to be; wouldn't that be worth it?"

Jowan's eyes widened. "Are you saying he made a compact? One so young?"

"It would make sense, wouldn't it? Why the demon keeps Isolde and Eamon alive, why it sent for Teagan. Keeping the family safe and unharmed must be the demon's part of the deal. Blood mages commune with demons for years and don't become abominations. Look at Tevinter."

"So now what?" Alistair asked, "I'm assuming that nothing you just said is good."

"We deal with the problem." Dylan sighed. He gave his caged former friend a long look.

"What is it you want, Jowan?" he asked.

A spark lit in Jowan's eyes. "A chance to fix this! Maker, I've made so many mistakes! Disappointed so many people!" His eyes lingered on Dylan, "I want a chance to make this right!

Dylan quirked an eyebrow. "After all you've done? How can you?"

The man went quiet, considering. "It's a start anyway. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. But I need to try."

Jowan was resolved. There was a thread of iron in his voice, one of the reasons Dylan remembered, Jowan had been his friend in the first place. While most mages at the tower walked along the bright, shiny path of obedience and self sacrifice the templars had laid out for them, Jowan, although less talented a mage than most, never failed to stray because of what _he_ wanted. As a human being, not a tool of the Chantry. Life was not over for him simply because was born as mage, and nobody would ever convince him otherwise. That was worth saving. He was worth saving.

"Ishafel, let him out."

"Why?" Ishafel and Jowan asked at the same time.

"Because we can't afford to linger here any longer."

"But what am I supposed to do?" Jowan looked confused.

"Just help. Help in any way you can. But for once, don't run away. Make my Maker damned faith in you mean something."

Ishafel fiddled with the lock, failed, and Leliana took over. After a few moments, Jowan was free and disappeared into the bowels of the castle without a word to anyone.

"Well," Michael snorted as they continued down the passage. "We'll never see him again."

"Shut up, Michael." Dylan shot over his shoulder with a glare that could rival one of Ishafel's.

The shambling corpses in the next tunnel proved that they had been noticed, but the amount was small and Dylan hoped against all odds that they had just been left there as guards rather than a harbinger to their arrival. The passage led into a small cellar that had once been filled with wine. Michael and Leliana both pilfered remaining bottles when they thought nobody was looking. Ishafel pocketed a statue that reminded her of Sten. Up a ladder they went and found themselves a small unfurnished room.

"Ah," Michael said approvingly, "Castle Redcliffe."

"Stay quiet, and low." Ishafel said, her voice barely audible. "We have no idea what maybe walking these halls.

"Actually, it's probably more undead." Dylan put in, hoisting himself out of the hole in the ground. "From my understanding, demons aren't terribly creative, but I agree, let's not let them know we're here."

Morrigan snorted in laughter.

They headed out into the hallway only to here a shuffling behind the door across from them. Very quietly, Leliana snuck to the door and began working on the lock.

Dylan shook his head. "Leave it, could be a trap."

Her blue eyes were earnest. "What if it's servants who escaped? The door is locked, after all."

Dylan closed his eyes in acquiescence. He wanted her to be right. He wanted to hope, but of course it was no such thing.

"Shades!" He shouted as the creatures from the wrong side of the fade rushed them from a Chantry pulpit. Luckily, there were only three and they made quick work of them. Disappearing into dust rather than joining the bodies on the floor. A brief examination of the room showed that another door had been violently ripped off it's hinges. The multitude of corpses on the floor explained what happened after the demons had breeched the defenses.

"Next time, we leave the door locked." Michael directed. "We should make for the courtyard as quickly as possible. Leave the survivors." Dylan nodded in agreement. Leliana mouth fell open, appalled.

"I promised Owen I would look for his daughter, I intend to keep that promise." Ishafel argued, "Besides, Leliana has the right of it. If anyone is alive, we should get them out. No telling what the demon might do when we confront it."

Dylan's eyebrows knotted together. Ishafel was right of course, but it would eliminate the element of surprise to be sure. They had killed so many undead the night before. How could there be anyone left? Michael agreed, he said as much, but both Ishafel and Leliana gave twin looks that brooked no argument and went to work on the next door.

"Those ladies will be the death of us," he mumbled to Dylan.

"I would not want to be a captive you're sent to rescue," Alistair snapped, moving to protect the ladies from whatever might come through the next door. "Have some compassion."

"What good is compassion if it gets you killed?" Morrigan replied.

Dylan agreed, but was thoughtful. After all, Ishafel would be dead if he hadn't bothered to rescue her. Everybody made ready to attack as soon as the door swung open, but they only found themselves in what looked to be Redcliffe's armory. A quick check over for supplies revealed a very nice shield for Alistair, which Michael had to talk him into taking.

"It belongs to the Arl," Alistair argued.

"Whose life you are currently trying to save." Michael reminded him. "You have a better chance of completing that mission If you do not have a shield that splinters at the first shade who rams you."

"He's right, Alistair. For once." Ishafel commented, while busily trying to open a chest with strange carvings on the front. It swung open to reveal a long object wrapped in black silk. Lifting it out, the silk fell away and she found she was holding a beautiful bow stave. It was made of sylvanwood, that much she could tell, but it had been stained darker, almost black and had a carving of a fox running down the length. It was only slightly shorter than Ilen's bow; and made by a master craftsman, that much was plain.

Leliana whistled at the sight of her. "Cor, what a beauty! Why would anyone keep that locked up?" Squatting next to Ishafel to inspect it further, she let out a surprised gasp when she saw the carving.

"That's the mark of the Black Fox!"

"The Black Fox?" Ishafel looked puzzled. "Who is that?"

"Have you not heard of him? He is a legend in Ferelden!" Michael said, amused.

Leliana was ran her hand down the length of the stave. "I will tell you the stories sometime..."

"Well, he certainly had a nice bow." She pulled an extra string from her pack. "I will...borrow... this, for now." The wood warmed under her hands and molded to her grip, almost like magic.

They kept moving, encountering only minor resistance as they traveled through what must have be the barracks and servants quarters. Despite their noble intentions, they had found no survivors as they walked through the eerie halls. Ishafel insisted on opening every door they could find. She swung open the latest one and had to catch herself before she fired her bow automatically. The shriek she that ensued was human, not undead. A terrified slip of a girl stood in what looked to be some sort of grain closet. The dark circles under her eyes made it clear she hadn't slept or eaten in days, but she was most certainly alive.

"Please! Don't hurt me!" she begged, shivering in fear, but she still managed to meet Ishafel's eyes.

"Calm down," Dylan moved past Ishafel as she lowered her weapon. "No one is going to hurt you.

"I..I'm sorry," She replied wearily, "I'm so frightened, the monsters are everywhere!"

"Who are you, my dear?" Dylan asked soothingly, Ishafel backed away to give them some space and watched him.

"My name's Valena, the arlessa's maid. Is she...alright? What happened to everyone?"

"Valena? The smith's daughter?" Dylan looked startled. Ishafel's eyes shone in triumph.

"You know my father?" Her face filled with hope.

"Yes and he's waiting for you. There is a tunnel leading out in the dungeon."

"B-but the monsters..."

"We've killed most of them. It's safe." Ishafel assured her. There were merits to killing everything you encountered occasionally.

"I'll find my way, I can run fast and I know the castle. Thank you!"She took a moment to collect herself, before scrabbling down the hall.

Ishafel said nothing, and she didn't have to. The corners of her mouth were upturned in a self satisfied 'I told you so' smile that got under even Dylan's skin.

"There is no way you could have known she would be the only survivor in the whole castle." Michael grumbled.

"She was alive, wasn't she?"

"There was no way you could have guaranteed that."

"Well, I think it's wonderful that she was alright after all," Leliana admonished. "It's what we all should have be hoping for."

Michael ignored her. "This is not a reason for you to get insufferable, Ishi." He warned.

Ishafel open her mouth to reply, Dylan beat her to the punch. "Enough, this is not the time for your bickering."

Nodding, she continued on at Dylan's side. But she didn't stop smiling.

The managed to make it through the kitchen with minimal trouble and into the courtyard where they were finally properly ambushed. A sharp bark sounded as they were inundated by shades, skeletons, and what looked, to Dylan's surprise, to be a Revenant. It was followed by the clatter of shields and armor.

"Warden." Sten's voice was cool against the din. "The gate."

Dylan turned his back to the Revenant to go for the switch and found himself instead soaring towards the creature with a very unmanly 'AHHHHHHHH!' The Revenant swung his sword up and cut deep into Dylan's right shoulder. Stifling a cry, he placed a palm out and let the lightning flow from his hand into the shade's armor. The Revenant was apparently too strong for that old trick; the shock didn't phase him. Arm burning, Dylan swung up his staff to stop a blow to his throat, an arrow whizzed past his ear in to the dark fabric of the creature itself but did nothing. The Reverent slammed into him with his shield, knocking the staff away. Dylan was extremely thankful that it had not fallen out of his hand. The sword came up again and this time he was not quick enough to stop it from cutting into his side. Before the creature could complete the swing there was a dagger plunged into the Revenant's arm, forcing it to disengage. Alistair slammed into it with his shield like a battering ram, forcing its attentions away. Ishafel wrapped an arm around the good part of his waist, pulling him away from the battle. Michael stood by the switch as Sten, Ser Perth and his men poured into the compound like a cleansing balm. A few seconds later, and the battle was done.

Bleeding enough to make a blood mage giddy, Dylan was forced to recline on the steps.

"Ser Mage!" Ser Perth cried out, alarmed, "You are injured. Rothiem! Scaldy! Assist the mage back to the town proper!

"Dylan..." Ishafel began, crouching down to take a better look at the gash at his shoulder.

"Just..." He panted, "Just give me a minute..."

Drawing from his well, which replenished fairly quickly now that the leech had been severed, he focused on his wounds using his mind's eye to coax the blood back into his veins and forcing the broken vessel to repair. Next was the muscle, he grit his teeth as he pushed mana into the tissue and made thick ropes of muscle interweave. Ishafel looked at his shoulder with awe. The gap in between neck and shoulder was gone, only the new, pink skin and rip in his robe proved the wound had been there. The wound in his side was thankfully not deep and healed quicker than its cousin. Dylan let out a breath and slowly rose. It would remain to be seen if he had done a good as job as Ishafel apparently thought he had.

Ser Perth smiled. "Well done, Ser Mage. Shall we go inside? We are anxious to see our Arl."

Dylan extended his hand in invitation and the Knight ascended the stairway, followed by his men. Sirius circled Dylan, whining as the mage rubbed his shoulder.

"Go on, boy. I'm fine, just need a mom-"

"How many moments do you intend to take?" Morrigan snapped. "Will you need one in battle as well?" Dylan frowned, as he walked towards her he stumbled. Part from exhaustion, part from Sirius darting back and forth in front of him. The Mabari version of fussing.

"He will be fine," Ishafel stung back, surprising Morrigan as she took the mage's arm.

"It wasn't like you lifted a finger to help him." Alistair noted coldly. Morrigan's eyes narrowed.

"Is there space in your remarkably small brain to remember that not all mages are healers? Or do we all look the same to you?"

Dylan tried his best not to laugh at the two of them, it was not the time for it, and braced himself for what might be inside.

Sten sighed as he took up the rear. Wardens.

He knew it couldn't be good when he saw the horror on Ser Perth's face. Bracing himself for whatever the worse might be, they barreled into the room.

And found Bann Teagan dancing.

Isolde stood submissively at the side of a boy not yet ten years old. He was wearing a malicious smile that did not quite fit his face.

"What in the Maker's name-" Ser Perth whispered under his breath.

Dylan took one look at the boy and stood a little straighter, he chanced a glance at Morrigan who nodded her agreement.

That was _not_ a ten year old boy.

"Ah, these must be the visitors you told me about, Mother. The ones who defeated my soldiers."

"Yes, Connor." She answered obediently, flinching.

So this was what she had been hiding. The demon was not holding her child captive. The demon _was_ her child. Connor's unfocused eyes peered around the room, fixing on Ishafel.

"What is it, mother? I can't see it well enough."

"This is an elf, Connor. You...you've seen elves before...we have them here in the castle."

"Ah, yes, I remember! I had their ears cut off and thrown to the dogs. They chewed for hours."

Sirius gagged in disapproval.

"Shall I send you to the kennels then?" The boy threw his head back and laughed, voice warped. Dylan shielded Ishafel protectively, raising his staff in threat.

"And what is this? A mage..." darkness spread over the boy's face "Come to end my games, have you? Spoilsport. Well, that can be fun as well." Menace flooded the room.

"Connor, I beg of you..." Isolde was practically in tears, "Don't hurt anybody."

Just like that, to the confusion of all but especially the two mages present, the demonic presence evaporated.

"Mother? What's happening? Where am I?" This was the little boy, the frightened child, but how was it possible? The boy would have to have prolific talent to fight off a possession like that. Dylan didn't lower his staff, but he did tentatively reach out to the boy.

"Connor?" He tried.

Isolde's eyes overflowed with tears, "Connor! Can you hear me?"

The malice returned with a vengeance. "Get away from me, fool woman! You are beginning to bore me."

"Maker's breath! What has happened here?" Ser Perth looked at the boy as though he had never seen him before.

"Grey Wardens, Please don't hurt my son. He is not responsible for what he does!" Isolde begged tiredly.

"So _he _is evil you spoke of." Ishafel asked from over Dylan's shoulder.

Isolde fell to the floor, sobbing. "No, no! It is that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon. He started all this. He summoned this demon! Connor was... just trying to help his father."

The boy's eyes glowed a ultraviolet purple, which prompted Dylan to decide that they were dealing with a Desire Demon. This was not going to be easy. Not by a long shot. He gave Morrigan a sidelong glance. They had not discussed much magic during there travels, and he realized only now it was a oversight on his part. She was Flemeth's daughter. Exactly how much did she know about demons. He only vaguely listened as the demon, who must have somehow been affected by the boy's young age, threw a tanturm.

"It was a fair deal!" He snapped in a petulant voice. "Father is alive just as I wanted. Now it's my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world. Nobody tells me what to do anymore!"

"Nobody tells him what to do. Nobody!" Tegan echoed, giggling like it was the funniest thing he ever heard. Ishafel was filled with sorrow. Such a brave shem brought so low.

"Quiet, uncle! I told you would happen if you kept shouting. Didn't I? Yes, I did. But let's keep things civil, shall we. These people will have the audience they seek. Tell us, what have you come here for?" the demon asked in a parody of holding court. Dylan sensed minute probing into the fabric of time and space around him. Morrigan was feeling out the rip in the fabric of the fade. He had to buy her time.

"We have come to see the Arl." He answered, hoping engaging the demon in conversation would make things easier. It did appear to enjoy the sound of it's own voice.

"A concerned well-wisher? Why didn't you say so? All this sneaking around and killing is so very unnecessary." It laughed. "But Father is so very ill, we really shouldn't disturb hm. Should we, mother?"

"I don't think..." Isolde began, a small ember of hope flaring before it was quickly banked. Her quavering words sent the demon into a rage.

"No, of course you don't. Every since you sent the knights away you don't do anything but deprive me of my fun. I crave excitement!" He pointed an accusing finger at Dylan."This man spoiled my sport by saving that stupid village. And now he'll repay me!"

Before proper warning could be given, a burst of energy catapulted out the child demon, ensnaring Dylan. He gave a hideous shutter, and moaned as though he were in great pain before collapsing on the flagstones. Michael vaulted forward, daggers drawn, but had not closed the distance halfway when he was swatted into the wall by the boy. Connor darted out of the room, and his guards sprang to action. Isolde retreated into a corner as her own men and the Bann attacked.

"Do not harm the Bann!" Perth shouted frantically over the sound of battle. The strength and speed of Ishafel and Michael combined cut a brutal circle around Dylan's fallen body. The battle took only a few minutes and Bann Teagan was mercifully returned to them by a sound punch in the jaw by one of Sten's massive fists. Isolde helped him up as he came to his senses, tears in her eyes. "Teagan! Thank the Maker you are alright. I would never have forgiven myself if you had died!"

The others in the room attended to their own. Dylan's breath was even, his heartbeat steady. From all appearances, it looked as though he had just fallen asleep.

"Dylan! Dylan! Lethallin, wake up!" Ishafel knelt beside his body, shaking his shoulders, frantic as she tried to wake him. Michael frowned. "Dylan!" He shouted. slapping the mage hard across the face. Not even a grunt.

"He's been pulled into the Fade." Jowan's voice was small, as though it wasn't sure if it were welcome. He eased out from his hiding place behind a doorframe and came to kneel beside his friend.

Isolde's face twisted in horror. "_You! W_hat are you doing here?" A mirror for Dylan's own words a few hours earlier.

Ishafel locked on him, dark eye molten. "Can you help him?"

Beside her, Michael was less forgiving. "This is your demon. Can't you call it off?"

Jowan gave him an offended look. "I already told you, I never summoned any demon! This Connor's doing. The boy has become an abomination."

The Bann blanched, Isolde sobbed, but Ishafel's look was steady.

"So what do we do now?"


	18. Part 3: Chapter 5: Ride the Blood

_Author's note: You know, I'm surprised at how little Amell/Mahariel stories come up when you search for them. I only got two other hits besides my own! This chapter was lot of fun to write (Probably because it was largely not based on cannon dialogue, all though there is still a chunk of it.) and I really think it is my best one so far! A big thanks to michigangameplay, shadowwolf101286, Japboix1 and RatedRSuperStar87 for their reviews and to all of you who favorited TT last time! A super big thanks to my beta, almostinsane, for all his help and an insane turnaround time. Enjoy, and I'll hope you'll review!_

_~Scarlet_

* * *

Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 5: Ride the Blood

Jowan quavered under the stares of Isolde and Teagan, but fought the urge to run. The elf, the woman who had offered to kill him, held Dylan's limp body in her arms and looked at him with such an earnest, stubborn belief that he could help that he wanted to cry. The fault for this mess lay squarely on his own shoulders. He had been so happy to see Dylan, so happy to once again have someone to save him from himself. He had even thought for a moment he was Maker blessed, if just for a moment. The minute he stepped out of that cell, Jowan had decided to stop lying to himself. He knew his life at the Circle would have been better if he had actually concentrated on his studies instead of attending the meetings at night and sneaking around with Lily. Because of his foolishness, the two people who mattered most in the world were taken from him. He didn't deserve to have even one of them back.

"What do we do now?" The elf asked. Why was she looking at him like that? Did she actually think he had answers?

_'Don't run away. Make my Maker damned faith in you mean something!'_

He held the echo in his brain. At heart, Jowan had always been a selfish person; a fact that he was constantly reminded of when he was at the Circle by Templars and mages alike. Maker forbid a mage want something, oh no, that might make him prey for a desire demon. Maker forbid a mage get angry about unfair treatment, that might cause exposure to a rage demon. It was a wholly ridiculous way of thinking. The Templars and the Chantry seemed very keen on being severe on things they would never even have an inkling of understanding. It was the reason he started attending those damned meetings in the first place! Even there, if you weren't ready to give heart and soul to the Uldred's cause, you were a traitor. Jowan wanted neither righteous isolation or to aid in the birth of a revolution. He wanted his freedom, and when he had the means to get it, he took it.

He took a long hard look at the man he used to achieve that end. He was used to doing what he wanted, and what he wanted right now, more than anything, was to somehow save the last person alive who thought he was worth something.

He had nothing to offer but blood magic, and that's what he would give, one final time.

"The demon must be dealt with, and the Arl recovered. We will help Dylan when we can, but for now we must keep moving." The man with the cold green eyes was talking to the elf, albeit his eyes softened when he looked at her.

"You would abandon him?" her voice rang out in disbelief. He sighed. "We must secure the situation here first. The demon child must be stopped, Ishi. Do you think Dylan would do any different?"

"Deal with him?" Isolde's voice was dangerously close to wailing, "What can you mean? You can't be considering...Maker have mercy! Please, mercy!" she shouted throwing herself at him. Teagan wrapped an arm around her waist, restraining her.

"Isolde, control yourself! If Connor is a demon..." His own voice was thick with emotion, "There is little else we can do."

The red headed archer looked distinctly alarmed. "He is only a little boy. Please tell me we aren't considering this! It's barbaric."

The man in mail looked morosely at her. "I wouldn't normally suggest slaying a child...but he's an abomination...there maybe nothing we can do."

The elf kept her eyes locked with those of the cold eyed man. "I'm not about to kill a child, Michael."

Jowan almost smiled before remembering it was not appropriate for the situation. It seemed she was selfish too.

Hopefully she was selfish enough...

"If you'll let me help..." he began tentatively.

Isolde shot up from her sobbing, it didn't matter that he hadn't addressed her.

"Help!" She shrieked, "You betrayed me! I brought you here to help my son and you poisoned my husband!"

Teagan frowned. "Is this the mage you spoke of? Didn't you say he was in the dungeons?"

She sneered. It was an expression that seemed oddly at home on her face. "He was. I assumed the creatures would have gotten him by now."

Jowan winced. Ishafel looked up at her from the floor. "Nobody deserves to die like that. He's no more to blame than you are, Lady Isolde."

"I know..." He began quietly, "I know what you must think of me, my lady. I took advantage of your fear. I am very sorry, I...never knew it would come to this."

Teagan gave him a measuring look. "Well, I shan't turn away his help. And if Connor is truly an abomination..."

Isolde, who was already pale, turned even paler."He is not always the demon you saw, sometimes the boy breaks through. Please, Teagan! I just want to protect him!"

"Isn't that what started this? You hired the mage to teach Connor in secret...to protect him? We have already lost so much and now...Dylan. This has to end."

Ishafel looked at him sharply. "Dylan is not lost. Not yet. What are our options?"

"Connor is my nephew, but he is also possessed." Teagan took a deep breath that appeared to do nothing to steady him. "Death would be... merciful."

Fighting the urge to slink back, Jowan offered his counsel. "There is another option...though I am loathe to offer it... A mage could confront a demon in the fade, without hurting Connor."

"What do you mean?" Teagan asked. "Is the demon not within Connor?"

"Not physically," Jowan launched into explanation. "The demon appeared to Connor in the Fade and it's from there it controls him. The connection between them is the key. Connections that span the Fade and our world are always recognizable. We can use it to find the demon, and hopefully destroy it, freeing Connor and the Arl in the process."

He looked down at Ishafel. "Killing the demon will probably release him as well," Jowan gave a small smile. "If he isn't already trying to kill it to release himself. Dylan was always a powerhouse in the Fade."

Hope blossomed on Isolde's face. "You can do it without hurting my boy, then?

He shook his head." I can enable another mage to do so. It normally requires lyrium and several mages but...I have blood magic."

The reaction in the room was immediate and quite loud. This was all despite the fact that there was an unnameable horror on the second floor and his agents stationed outside the stairs. Sten began to grumble, Sirius barked, although it was unclear whether it was a bark of approval or a bark of concern, Alistair protested loudly, Morrigan laughed, though no one could hear her; and Michael and Ishafel said two different things at the same time.

"Blood magic is forbidden. It's not an option."

"What difference would it make?"

Michael stared rather harshly down at her. "Ishi, I don't know what kind of magic the Dalish practice while skipping about the woods, but blood magic, the kind this-" He paused in speech to look at Jowan disgustedly, "_degenerate_ is practicing is dangerous. And from what Dylan said, this man isn't that competent to begin with."

"If there is a way, I must know it. Jowan, tell me what you mean." She ignored Michael, she didn't even look at him, Jowan noticed. Her fingers were gripped tight around Dylan's arm as though she were attempting to anchor him in the world again using force. It would leave quite a bruise.

"Lyrium provides the power for the ritual, but I can take that power from someone's life energy. This ritual requires a lot of life however, all of it."

Leliana's eye widened. "Someone must die? Someone must be sacrificed?"

Jowan nodded. "Yes and then we send another mage into the Fade. I can't go because I'm doing the ritual."

Michael and Ishafel were trading enough scary looks to kill a dragon, and this time Alistair was trying to join in.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," Jowan quavered. "It's not much of an option...The power has to come from somewhere and that means either lyrium or... blood."

"Then let it be my blood. I will be the sacrifice." Such selflessness was unexpected from Isolde, and definitely not appreciated.

"What? Isolde, are you mad? Eamon would never allow this!" Teagan bellowed.

"Blood Magic. How can more evil of any help here? Two wrongs don't make a right!" Alistair shouted in the growing confrontation between himself, Michael and Ishafel. Unfortunately for him, they were both focused on their own bickering.

"Connor is blameless in this. He should not have to pay the price!" Isolde reasoned. No one was listening.

"You can find lyrium and more mages at the Circle of Magi- If they would even do it. It should not be difficult to get what they need provided we have the time." Alistair shouted loudly over everybody, effectively bringing the conversation to a halt.

"But what will happen here?" Isolde said, and for once her comment was sensible "Connor will not remain passive forever!"

"The Circle is only a few days away." Alistair said excitedly, capitalizing on the attention. "Surely the First Enchanter can be persuaded to help the heir of Redcliffe."

Jowan hesitated. "I've known Irving my whole life. He is a careful man. He won't risk one of his own; and even if he would, I doubt Greagoir would allow it."

"Greagoir..." Ishafel recalled. "He was the Templar who was willing to send Dylan to that place he mentioned earlier...the mages' prison."

Michael's gave her a sidelong glance. "I meant to ask ealier, Ishi, but what exactly did Dylan do to warrant _Aeonar_?"

"That hardly matters now." She snapped.

"Either we kill someone or we take our chances with the mages." Alistair summed up the situation nicely. "Both carry complications."

A chuckle permeated the room. It was completely inappropriate, but then again, the owner had never cared about being appropriate anyway.

"That is really the best you can do, blood mage? Have you no spine?" Morrigan asked, her voice was scathing. "All that power, and all you wish to do is use it so brutishly? Have you not refined your technique at all?"

Jowan looked puzzled. "That is the only way I am familiar with. It's the only one I know how to cast."

Morrigan reminded Ishafel very much of one those human pets (what was it? a cat?) when it was irritated. She sauntered slowly over to Jowan from the place where she had been watching the conversation unfurl on the wall.

"Then come up with a way that is unfamiliar." She smiled languidly. "There is no choice here. Perhaps there was before this...incident." She looked down at Dylan with thinly veiled disdain. "The demon will drain his spirit within hours. We cannot leave, that is, not if you value his life. As it is, you have missed something important. I'm beginning to wonder about the intelligence of Circle Mages." She pointed her the end of her staff at Dylan idly. "At least _he _had the ability to be creative."

"Morrigan," Ishafel warned, "This is no time for games."

She circled the two Wardens with a sleepy glide and continued to smile in an almost predatory way. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for a moment she did not look much like Morrigan at all.

"The obvious. You are all so focused on the child you have missed another connection to the demon entirely: the one you are holding in your arms."

Jowan looked like a student given a particularly confusing piece of homework. "The demon forced Dylan into the Fade. There is no connection to trace." he argued. "And even if there was, life energy would still be needed to follow it into the Fade."

Her smile turned mocking. "Dylan is a Grey Warden; tied through his joining to the two other wardens in the room. 'Tis that connection you can ride, and since it is already bound in blood, you will not need much life force to follow it."

"But still-

"Is there not ample life force in this room? A small amount from everyone will easily do."

Jowan was beginning to regret offering his help. He stared at her uncomprehendingly, or rather not wanting to comprehend."It's simple enough to send a mage through on the demon's bind. I know that kind of magic well enough to ensure success. What binds the Wardens besides blood? I don't know what I'm working with, or if a mage could even ride that connection!"

She frowned. "A mage, no. But a Warden could. You need not worry about the Warden's bond. All you need know is your magic will work."

"You want to send one of the Wardens? With no waking experience in the Fade at all? Are you mad? Trained mages don't come back from the Fade. How will they defend themselves?"

Until this point, Morrigan had firmly believed Alistair was the dumbest person she had ever met. Apparently she was wrong. How could a mage with so little comprehension of the nature of the Fade exist? Some things should have been, and for the most part were, innate.

"Magic in the Fade is merely the manifestation of your own will. If a person thinks they have a weapon and aims to use it then the weapon is real." She reminded him, "Really, what do they teach in that Circle?"

"What of the dangers? The demons?" He shuddered.

"Wardens deal with darkspawn everyday. Is that not somewhat comparable?"

Alistair eyebrows twitched. "You want _us_ to go into the fade?"

"Not you," she said tersely. "Ishafel. Her connection with Dylan is stronger than yours and she is not nearly fool enough to get herself killed."

"Hey!" He gave her a dirty look.

Michael's voice was cutting "This is _blood magic. _Do you really trust that mage to cast any sort of spell on you that he isn't sure about? I wouldn't let him cast on me if he was the last mage in the world and assured me he did this everyday!"

"But it's the only way..." Leliana started. Michael raised an eyebrow. More chatter burst from all but Sten, who had ceased his mumbling and stood quietly, watching Ishafel.

She turned her eyes up to Bann Teagan, questioning.

"I- It's up to you, my friend." He said softly.

She nodded, looking down at Dylan's ruddy, familiar face. "Tell me what to do.

Another wave of discussion broke over the room. Ishafel had never realized how much Dylan kept the party in line, or at the very least, silent. This chattering had certainly never happened before, and it ended when Michael drew his daggers and headed towards the second floor staircase.

"I will not be a party to this."

Isolde screamed, but she needn't have worried. He froze in place before he even went two steps. Morrigan looked distinctly annoyed.

"We haven't the time for these theatrics." She looked at Jowan, who was thinking very hard. "Well?"

"Alright," he said, after much mental deliberation. "I'll need you to stand here, and you...here." He moved about the room, instructing them. A loose circle formed around the two wardens, taking into account Micheal's frozen state. Finally, he removed an old, well used dagger from his belt. "Open his mouth."

Ishafel stared at the knife. "What are you going to do with that?"

"The spell requires a connection. I need to pierce his tongue, and yours."

She drew a small, silver dagger from her belt and handed it to him hilt first. The blade looked virgin.

"Use this. Your blade looks...unclean." Unclean was a kind word for it, a very kind word.

"You wanted to put that in somebody's mouth?" Alistair asked incredulously, "Don't blood mages practice _hygiene_?"

Taking the blade in his hand, he was careful to avoid Dylan's lips and teeth as Ishafel pried his mouth open. The cut was small, but effective. Blood gushed into the cavity. Moving away, he planted the point of the dagger in Morrigan's palm, then Leliana's, then Alistair's. He continued around the circle, stopping only when Sten refused to offer his hand. Sirius barked very loudly and very sharply. The Qunari and Mabari participated in some kind of secret exchange that ended with an excited yip as Sten held out his hand. Even Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde took part.

Finally, Jowan came to Michael.

"You'll need to release him." He told Morrigan, "I don't want to take the chance of your spell interfering with mine." He directed his attention back to Michael. "Ser, I believe I have enough energy to do the spell without you. If you don't want to participate, fine. But you need to know: if you attack the boy or myself after the spell is cast, you will kill them both."

Morrigan's hold disappeared. Michael blinked once, happy to be free of the invisible vice, to find Ishafel not looking down at Dylan, as she had done for most of this decidedly long and annoying encounter, but at him, holding his gaze. There was a question in her eyes that she did not need to voice, the morose set of her face did it for her. Not breaking eye contact, he wordlessly held out his palm to Jowan and let her knife dig into his skin until he bled. His blood flowed over the tip of the blade, drops spilling from his hand to the floor like liquid rubies. Michael did not relinquish his hold on her eyes even as Jowan came to her with the knife soaked in the blood of her allies. He put his fingers to her chin and she dropped her jaw accordingly, her delicate, pink tongue darting out and capturing Michael's attention. He watched spellbound, both metaphorically and literally, as Jowan drew the blade soaked in his own blood gently down her the groove of the organ, flicking the blade at the very tip of it, causing a dark red bead to well up. Jowan moved in front of her, blocking his view.

"When I give the word, you must touch your tongue with his." He hesitated. "I will not lie to you, there will be a significant amount of pain. No matter what happens, you must not break the connection. Be careful once you enter the fade. Demons have be known to lead even the strong astray. Don't believe everything you see."

Blood welled out of Dylan's mouth to stain the floor. Jowan jabbed the dagger first in one palm, and the the other. "Here goes nothing..." he murmured. "Now."

She plunged her tongue into Dylan's mouth, caressing his with her own. To an observer newly entering the room it would appear as though she had given him a very sloppy open-mouthed kiss. She suckled on it and knew almost instantly when the spell took hold. She could not remove herself from him, and all control over her own movement was gone. A strange feeling bubbled under her skin and then flowed over it. She felt her eyes widen and then her vision was washed in red and she couldn't see anything, or feel anything, not even Dylan's tongue on her own. A sickening pain spread though her, as though her skin was being peeled back strip by strip. She held herself as steady as she could and refused to scream. The pain continued to increase and build in intensity, even though she no longer felt connected to her own body. Then abruptly, the tide of pain and redness stopped and pulled away, leaving her on a muted tan plain.

The Fade, she thought in awe. The spell had worked. It was then she realized she was surrounded by ghosts.

* * *

Jowan nearly fell forward onto the couple, saved from disturbing them by Ser Perth, who seemed to be trying to touch him as little as possible.

Nobody else moved.

"It is alright, he called out, stumbling towards the wall so clumsily that Ser Perth was forced to take a better grip on his arm. "You can move now. The spell is cast." A nine pointed star, bound in blood surrounded the couple in a thin shield of crimson light that flickered every so often.

"They are as still as statues," Leliana breathed, "living statues, like out of some tale."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Do- do you think they'll be alright? In there? By themselves?"

Michael, who had fallen unceremoniously in to a sitting position on the flagstones looked at him irritably.

"You ask that question _now_?"

Sirius chuffed in reassurance, settling down beside his mistress to wait.

"She will be fine, Alistair." Teagan replied, placing a hand on the worried Warden's shoulder. "She is the bravest woman I've ever met."

"She will come back to us," Isolde said to no one in particular, wringing her hands,"And bring back Connor and Eamon, and the mage too. Everything will be alright."

For once, Michael prayed the woman was right.

* * *

The ghosts were all children. Well, that wasn't quite true, every so often there was a flicker of an old man walking through them, calling out. Voices danced on an invisible wind, wrapping around her ears as she walked forward in the strange place. She had no clue what she was looking for, but the voices got stronger and louder as she continued, until they were practically screaming. Coming around a corner that materialized on its own accord, she came face to face with a man who looked like he didn't quite belong, standing in what looked to be a child's dwelling.

"You there!" The man called out to her, his eyes shifting in and out of focus, as though he were desperately trying to see her. "Have you seen my son? I've looked for him everywhere, but I can't seem to find him in this blasted place."

"Are you Arl Eamon?" she asked carefully.

"Yes," he answered, sounding surprised that she needed to ask. "Have you seen my son?"

"No, but I mean to find him. You are trapped here in the Fade along with my friend, Dylan. I will free all of you."

"Thank you," he said, and made to say more when suddenly he melted away. Not there at all. She continued forward in an eerie silence, until she reached a flickering purple light. Hesitantly, she put her hand forward...

And melted away herself.

* * *

There was a clank of metal from the other room, causing Ser Perth's knights to jump. They stood by the door, ready for an attack, but none came. All was silent. Jowan reclined on a bench, watching Michael watch Ishafel, focusing on the back of the man's head. He had not moved from his point in the star.

Jowan couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Ishafel had asked him without words to give, against his better judgment and moral principals, and he did willingly. He was selfless, like so many of those at the circle. He would put his own feelings aside for the greater good, and that was the problem.

Who really decided what the greater good was?

Not that they would admit it, but it was the selfish people who set priorities. If he had run up the stairs sooner or, he thought with a shudder, struck Jowan down without warning, no doubt the lady Warden would be dealing with the problem another way. But he hadn't, he gave in to what she asked. Regardless of his own words to the contrary, he could not have done the spell without his blood. Now he was stuck waiting, her Mabari at his side.

It was a terrible position to be in.

His eyes wandered over to the witch, whose gaze was unwaveringly focused on Dylan. Had she too, given against her will? Was she even aware that she had? Despite the fact she had taken control of the situation early on?

He let his mind go, the spell was still feeding off of him and he hadn't the strength to think. He stared into the fire and found it odd how very solid it seemed. Weren't flames supposed to flicker? It roared, and a rage demon launched itself into the room.

* * *

With a start, Ishafel found herself somewhere new, staring at someone familiar.

"Dylan?" She said aloud. The figure turned. Immediately, something felt wrong. The figure coming towards her was a perfect copy of the fired haired man she was searching for, but a sixth sense she had not known she possessed told her otherwise.

"Ishafel? How did you get here?" the figure asked in Dylan's voice with concern so genuine, she was almost fooled. Then the creature smiled, and she saw an unmistakeable malice in it's face. The very same malice that had flooded the hall earlier.

"Who are you?" She recoiled.

Dylan's mouth abruptly grew larger, longer and thinner, a shrill voice emerged from the gaping maw.

"What is the matter, Ishafel," it cackled with glee, "Don't you recognize me?" The creature slammed forward, smashing her head into the edge of what should have been a bookcase. She struck forward with her dagger. Had she drawn it before the creature attacked? She didn't quite remember. It shrieked again, fake head lolling dangerously on it's shoulder, not quite severed.

"Ishafeeeeeeeellll!" The gap at the creature's shoulder grew fangs and opened impossibly wide. And then something strange happened. A flash of bright light appeared with a pop and flew in the creature's face, stunning it. As it stumbled back, she leapt forward savagely, stabbing at it again and again until it dissolved into a puddle into the ground and was gone completely. A chill settled around her, and then was burned away by the cheery little wisp, floating a few inches above her face.

That new sixth sense tingled. She did not think the little thing meant her any harm.

"Thank you for your help," she said truthfully and continued down the path. With a somewhat musical chime, it floated after her. Ahead, there was another wall of purple light, she stretched tremulous fingertips toward it...

And the world shifted again.

* * *

"Don't let them reach the star, it will disrupt the spell!" Jowan bellowed as a shade launched towards Dylan and Ishafel. Alistair was brutal and efficient, burying his sword into the creature's gut and ramming his shield into the rest of it's body, forcing it away from the edge of the glyph. A shambling skeleton at the door leading to the family quarters burst into flames. The shade that followed took an arrow between the eyes for it's pains. Michael let out a sharp cry as a Revenant's sword just missed cutting into his shoulder. Teagan, grabbing a discarded blade, swung around, severing the creatures helmet head from its shoulder. Isolde cowered in a corner and did her very best not to faint.

Michael glared at the flickering star housing Ishafel's stone-like frame, her lips pressed firmly against Dylan's.

Hurry it up, woman!

* * *

A shudder went through Ishafel's frame, though no chill permeated the Fade. The wisp bounced along as they continued through an ever thickening pack of ghosts; at times there were so many that all she could see was white and was forced to trust the jingle of the wisp to find her way. The ghosts began to disappear and once again she found herself in an area of the Fade that looked like a child's room.

Dylan sat perched on a bookcase.

"Your wasting your time, Ishi. I don't want to go back." He smiled evilly, the corners of his mouth turning up far more then they should, "I like it here."

"We both do." Connor's voice said behind her. " So go away." She spun around, but there was nobody there. She turned back to Dylan to find the little boy sitting crossed legged on the bed. They wore twin smirks.

"Go back, Ishi." Dylan said again, in a voice that should have been kind. "Go back, or we'll have to kill you."

"He never calls me that," She snarled. The demons both laughed. The Fade was suddenly as black as ink. An alarmed chime came from her right, she feinted back. Her movement was followed by a surprised, wet thunk. The dark trickled to the ground and she found that the Dylan demon held the mangled Connor demon's neck in his fist, throat crushed, while the Connor demon's arm had punched through the Dylan demon's stomach. Like the darkness, they melted into pools of ink on the floor.

When Ishafel saw the swirling purple light, she jumped for it.

She was expecting more demons, more bookcases, but instead she found herself in a cavernous area that seemed to stretch for miles. The only thing that mattered was at the center.

At the very center of the space was Dylan. The true Dylan. He almost looked just as he did in the waking world, his eyes closed, jaw relaxed, lips partially open. As though in a deep sleep, maybe even having a good dream. There were two very noticeable differences. The first was the one that caught Ishafel the most off guard.

He was naked.

Naked as the day he came into the Creators' world. Nothing was left to the imagination. Ishafel's ears turned scarlet. For a shem who had grown up confined in a tower, Dylan was certainly fit under those robes.

Wrapped around his body was a she-demon. A dainty food hitched up against a shin, winding long, slender legs about his own. A delicate arm rest lightly on a hip while a hand dipped even lower, to caress a thigh. Too long a finger tickled one side of his neck, while her face nuzzled the other. The creature looked up as she approached and smiled slowly, coyly.

The look on its face was one of abject joy.

The was a burst of purple smoke as the demon disentangled from the man and appeared before her.

Disentangled wasn't quite the word. A glasslike version of herself remained, as confining as chains.

"Is he not beautiful?" she said admiringly, eyes glowing with anticipation. "Such power, in one so young..it is delectable." Her tongue darted out, wetting already shiny lips. "I have not had such a feast in so long..."

Ishafel had an idea that she was envisioning the exact moment she last had such a meal. A small ripple of disapproval radiated out from her.

The demon's eyes hardened "Very well. No more illusions. Now we stand face to face. You see my true form and stand in my domain. It is here I am most powerful; and yet I have no wish to engage your power. Nor should you be so eager to engage mine. Perhaps we should converse instead? I have a proposition for you..."

She paced in front of him, a little skip in her step. It absurdly reminded Ishafel of Sirius' behavior toward the lamb bone he received at Prosper; gentle and extremely protective.

It was very clear neither of them wanted to share.

"I will release the boy and his father. That's what you're here for, is it not? You three may leave here with my blessing. Only, leave me this one..." She turned her back on Ishafel to stroke Dylan's cheek lovingly. A guttural groan was released from Dylan's throat.

Ishafel's eyes narrowed to slits. Beside her, the wisp chirped shrilly with fury. The demon whipped around, feeling the collective wave of anger. She looked at the wisp with amused disdain, and lazily lifted an arm to send a bolt of white hot energy at it. It spiraled out of the way with an alarmed peep.

"Annoying thing..." she murmured.

"Release him, release them all. let us go in peace and I will spare you."

She laughed. "Release them? This is my place of power. I do as I wish here. Truly, is there no room for negotiation? Let us speak, elf. Surely, there is something you desire..." She ran her hand down her navel.

Ishafel fought the urge to vomit. "There is nothing I wish from the likes of you."

The desire demon huffed in exasperation. "Very well, you wish a battle? Let's see if your strength matches your boldness!"

* * *

"On the left! Ser Perth, watch out!" One of the Redcliffe knights dove in front of him, taking the mace blow to the face meant for his commander. Ser Perth maneuvered around the poor man to slam his sword into the shadow warrior's skull to the hilt.

"Arrow!"

The bolt went up in flames and melted into to ash before it reached the flickering red barrier of the spell. Leliana quickly fired one of her own in return.

Jowan was as white as a sheet, his life force draining into the spell. He snapped his wrist expertly and sucked the life out of three shades charging him, funneling the energy into the spell. It was helping but not by much. He groped for the wall, He couldn't keep this up much longer. Why had he listened to that witch? He wasn't powerful enough for this. Had she ever stopped to consider the fact that it might kill him?

"Jowan!" Leliana shouted. A skeleton appeared on his left.

He hadn't the energy to deflect it, he braced himself for the impact and was surprised to see the skeleton shatter instead. "Save whatever dying you have planned for after the battle" Morrigan advised. The Mabari took up a station beside him.

Not yet, he wasn't going to the Fade just yet.

"Arrow!" He stretched his hand out to send flames, but to his horror nothing happened. The bolt was heading straight for the spell...until it slammed into a shoulder.

Michael reeled from the impact and the second one that followed, burying itself perilously close to his heart. He went down. With a roar, Sten brought his greatsword down to smash the skeleton in two, but not before it loosed it's final arrow. It was a clean shot and slammed straight into the spell. To the horror of everyone watching, the glyph shattered, sending both bodies flying like battered ragdolls to opposite sides of the room.

* * *

Ishafel nearly had the wench when the fade washed red. She stumbled forward and then was knocked back by the she demon. The bolt of energy that hit her chest was so powerful that a moan poured unbidden from her mouth. The desire demon, fighting for her existence one moment, found the tables turned in her favor. She laughed as she blasted the reeling Ishafel, sending her sprawling. The Fade was becoming less real, more washed out. She saw flashes of the stone hall at Redcliffe castle.

She was being pulled out of the Fade!

No, she thought to herself, forcing it to come back into focus. Morrigan had said that will was what determined your power in the Fade, and she was not going back- not without Dylan, Connor and the Arl.

Pain began to build in her joints as she forced herself to move dodging the next bolt and lashing out at the demon's throat. It was like moving upstream through a strong current, and she was too slow.

"Dylan," she shouted, the pain sending black spots dancing across her vision, "Dylan Amell! Fight this! You have to fight this! I cannot do this alone!"

So small a movement it was barely noticeable, a single red eyebrow twitched.

The demon tittered, grabbing Ishafel by the hair and dragging her away from him. She was pulling so hard tears sprang to her eyes.

"Is this how you want to die? Is this what you escaped Aeonar for?" A wave of lightning coursed down her short crop of hair. She screamed, it was like being rubbed raw. She couldn't do this, fight the demon and the tide of the Fade together. She wasn't strong enough.

The wisp flew in the face of the demon, giving her knuckles a nasty shock. The demon languidly batted the mote away. Changing tactics, the wisp flew at Dylan, gathering speed, and slammed into the glass prison. It floated, stunned, for a moment before ramming the case again. Ishafel couldn't see what the demon was about to do, and it didn't really matter. She was about to be pulled into the waking world.

She was about to lose. She was about to lose the only person who had come after her when she was lost. She gathered what strength she had left, all of it.

"Dylan!" she screamed "In the name of the Creators, WAKE UP!"

The confines of the space shook with the force of her voice. A crack appeared in the glass arm securing his chest.

The Demon Hmmmmmed and brought her claws to Ishafel's throat. The mote shrieked and flew at the she-demon, determined to protect Ishafel.

"Dylan..." She was done, may Falon'din protect her.

The prison shattered, glass shards melting away as soon as they were created. Dylan let loose a bolt that knocked back his captor, her hand ripping out a chunk of Ishafel's hair as they forcibly parted. The creature writhed as Dylan unleashed a barrage of spells and then finally was no more.

The wisp jingled in happiness and was gone. He wondered what that was about. Wisps were the weakest denizens of the fade, this was the last place you would expect to find one.

But right now he had more important things to worry about. He sprinted to Ishafel, who lay akimbo on the strange fabric floor of the Fade. Skin was peeling from burn-like wounds. He poured his magic, not fully depleted, into them.

Nothing happened.

His eyes flew wide. This had not happened to him since he was a junior apprentice.

"Dyl...an..." Her voice was raw, and sounded as burned as her skin. "A..re you... alright? The...demon?"

"Dead." He told her distractedly. He had to fix this, he had to fix her. He reached out again with his magic.

"Good." Ishafel sighed, and let go. Dylan was overwhelm by the sudden, intense pull and everything went dark.

* * *

The demons vanished, skeletons fell to pieces and the animated plate mail that had been attacking Alistair clattered to the floor.

"Michael!" Teagan, Isolde clutching his arm as he went, sprinting across the room. A pool of dark blood had appeared under his body.

Jowan stayed slumped against the wall, skin a sickly gray rather than white. Eyes closed. He did not move.

Dylan came to slowly. He was first aware of the strange position of his body. He was upside down against the wall. Feet dangling by his head. He groaned, righting himself. The hall was a mess. Dead bodies and demon corpses lay thickly across the ground.

What happened here?

His eyes locked onto a body propped up on the other side of the room, by the fireplace. Ishafel.

_Please be alright,_ he thought quietly, _For the love of the Maker, please be alive. _

Her voice answered as though she were standing next to him.

_There is no need to shout, Dylan. I am fine, I just need to rest. Rest would be..._

Her body slid down the side of the wall. Dylan's hand flew to his mouth.

He hadn't spoken a word.


	19. Part 3: Chapter 6: Consequences

Part 3: Cliffes of Red Blood

Chapter 6: Consequences

As soon as they were absolutely certain the demon was vanquished, Teagan sent out runners out for aid. The remaining villagers began the hard work to return Redcliffe to normalcy. Eventually, help arrived, but at the kind of pace a snail would call slow. It was extremely fortunate that Bodahn and Sandal had decided to come with them; their supplies made things much easier for everyone. Although Bodahn was happy enough to offer his services for free, an exclamation that caused both Bann Teagan and Ser Perth to ask jokingly if he was really a dwarven merchant, he was promised he would be well compensated.

As the dead were collected and sent on their way to the Fade, Dylan took on the arduous task of caring for the living. The unease after hearing Ishafel in his own mind was pushed aside as he focused on the wounded. He found it more than a little ironic that he was constantly depending on a magical skill set that had been practically forced on him by Wynne and Irving.

He was grateful for it.

The majority of Ser Perth's men only had small scrapes and bruises, easily taken care of. The small minority that suffered more were beyond his help. He made their passing painless; it was the least he could do for men who had given their lives to save his own. An arrow had pierced Michael Cousland's lung. That had been significantly harder to heal than the others and thankfully, the deceased castle healer had dealt with such things before in Teagan's sight. It was the hardest injury he ever healed. Dylan was completely drained afterwords, but Michael lived and was in good humor; until they told him that Ishafel had not yet woken.

And she wasn't the only one.

On the morning of the fourth day, Dylan found himself by Jowan's bedside. The man had, however indirectly, saved his life. Teagan's runner had brought help from the healer outpost in Georges on the evening of the third day, but despite constant attention his skin was gray and his breathing labored. Lisle, the healer in charge, was of the opinion that the destruction of the spell disrupted his mana flow, halting any kind of natural regeneration. It was unclear if it was permanent and because blood magic relied on life force rather than mana...

It was possible that Jowan would be stuck in this state for the rest of his natural life.

"Dylan? " Connor was half hidden by the door frame.

Word had been sent to the tower, of course, but they had yet to reply. In the meantime, Isolde and the grizzled Templar in charge of the healers, Ser Hector, looked after the boy.

"Is... he any better?" Connor asked, hesitantly coming to stand by his former tutor's bedside.

"No, unfortunately not."

"Lisle sent me to fetch you. Ser Cousland is refusing to come down for his bandage changing again, and is a 'right git' to anyone who tries enter..."

He chuckled, ruffling the boy's ginger hair absently. Lisle's vocabulary was rubbing off on Connor. He chuckled, ruffling the boy's ginger hair absently. He was quite biddable, probably an excellent student before the demon.

Irving would like him.

"I'll deal with Michael."

Halfway to Ishafel's room he slowed and stopped, unconsciously clutching his chest as a second heartbeat settled over his own. He breathed, adjusting himself as it was followed by the rise and fall of a different set of lungs. He had become used to it over the past few days, but the transition was always a shock. It only happened when he was in close proximity to Ishafel. A side effect of the shattered spell perhaps? He was sure it wouldn't be the only one.

He had no idea what would happen when she woke.

The room Isolde had given Ishafel was normally reserved for visiting family. The Arlessa herself would drift in after sitting with the Arl. Though released from the hold of the demon, the Arl was still not awake. While the healers had assured them that his condition was stable, the real problem was while he wasn't getting any worse, he wasn't improving either.

Alistair stumbled over his words and occasionally added his own thoughts to the book of elven history he was reading to an unconscious Ishafel. Finding nothing better for the well intentioned man to do, Lisle had set him to the task of keeping her mind occupied. A tome of medical history had suggested that people in her state could still hear and constant mental stimulation might heal them faster. Alistair had been reading almost non-stop since she suggested it, although he could of picked a better book.

Didn't anyone have a copy of 'The Rose of Oralis' around here?

"Michael, are you mouthing off to the healers again?" Dylan asked the man sulking in the window seat.

There was suddenly a small surge of something his brain he was certain was not his. It slid fluidly over his own thoughts and was gone before he could grasp it.

"_You _healed me, Dylan. I'm _fine._I don't see why the old hag keeps calling me down for 'balm treatments'" he chuckled, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was just trying to get my shirt off."

Dylan walked swiftly to the other side of the room and viciously dug his fingers into the other man's formally wounded shoulder.

He hissed in pain, glaring at Dylan. "That hurt!"

Dylan looked back at him, annoyed. "That's the point. Yes, your wounds are healed, _superficially._ There may no longer be visible holes punched in you, but they are still _there_ to some degree. You need to take care of them! Get downstairs. Now."

Michael left complaining under his breath about fussy mages. Dylan stayed in the doorway, not at all pleased with the pallor of Ishafel's face.

"How is she?"

"No change," Alistair answered miserably. "She didn't even_twitch_ when Michael went on his rant about Dalish and how they must all be prone to foolishness to gain attention."

Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes, a smile fighting to dominate his lips. "Perhaps that's for best, we wouldn't want her to hurt herself trying to kill him the minute she wakes."

The rest of the day was largely uneventful, but there was a great deal of everyday things to be done at Redcliffe. Apparently, babies did not stop being born because of Blights or demon infestations. Dylan was just coming back from his third birth in five days; it had taken four hours and this one was thankfully not a breech, when it happened. His chest suddenly swelled of it's own accord and there was a hammering that was at odd with the beat of his own heart.

"Dylan!" Leliana called, waving as she came down the castle colonnade, arm and arm with Lisle. He ignored them, running straight up the stairs behind them and vanished into the castle proper.

"Now what was that about?" she wondered. The healer laughed, a giant belly laugh that made Leliana smile. "He's always been like that. About six times worse when Wynne used to bring him 'round to us as a child. It's probably nothing."

* * *

"Ishi, you are entirely too dramatic. If you wanted attention, you could have gotten it without being comatose for a week."

"Don't... call... me that!" She croaked. Her chest was in a strange amount of pain for her total lack of physical injuries. There was a consistent punching feeling over her heart that felt out of place. She let out a groan. She felt like she'd been running, or climbing, but that was impossible, although her stomach certainly didn't feel that way.

Michael was _not_ helping.

"Don't groan like that! You've brought this on yourself. Blood magic never ends well."

She had a sudden, horrid feeling. "Dylan?"

Michael let out an exasperated sigh "He's fine, been running around like a spring chicken; and a headless one at that. But you very nearly..." His face darkened and the indignant facade disappeared in a blink. Those almost unnatural eyes of his gave her a look that was very, very stern and not at all like the Michael she knew.

"Jowan still hasn't recovered. The healers are beginning to think that he may never wake. They were beginning to wonder the same about you. What were you thinking? Do you believe you are immune to the dark powers because you are a Grey Warden? What would have happened if you and Dylan both _died_? You really think Alistair has the stones to unite a country? Man can barely decide which sock to put on what foot. Maker help us if he ever ends up in a position of power." Michael grumbled the last part more to himself, but she managed to hear it anyway. "There are consequences to your actions, Ishafel. You of all people can't afford to be rash now, not with the stakes so damnably high!"

Swallowing hard, she felt as chastised as if it were the Hahren or Keeper were doing the scolding. She also realized that it was the first time in a very long while that he had called her by her full name. Oddly enough it reminded her of Tamlen, he too had only used her full name when he was upset.

"_Abalas, _Michael. I am sorry."

He sighed deeply and turned away, "Ishafel, I-"

Dylan burst through the door, nearly removing wood from hinges.

"Ishafel!"

He swayed on his feet at the exact moment she let out a bark of surprise, back arching into the bed.

"Ishi? Michael's face took on a hard concern. "Dylan? What's wrong?" He ran to catch the man before the fell over, bracing him. He stuck his head out the doorframe.

"Healer! We need a healer here!" The maid in the hall took off at run.

Whatever overwhelmed her was powerful and strange and reminded Ishafel a little too much of The Joining. All the muscles in her body seized as they felt the shadow of a larger, less toned set slide over them. Words and images deluged into her mind, disorienting and for a moment, completely overwhelming her own conscious. Everything Dylan had ever thought or felt was laid bare to her. It was all there in her own head, but fuzzy; diluted by her own confusion and being. She even had an awareness of his arms and legs against the chair as he himself seized.

Dylan could feel the quality of the sheets Ishafel lay in, the pain as she drew breath and her wonder at being able to feel his thoughts. Her own voice, lashing out in pain from the invasion of his own mind echoed in his head so loudly that it was hard to hear his own screams over hers. Flashes of imagery interrupted his line of sight. Forest, a halla, A blonde man laughing. A man and woman standing on a ridge saying a silent farewell, sorrow, an acerbic itch just under the skin he knew well. The smell of rich, warm earth. Her distaste at the spoiled smell of human squalor. The sights and sounds and experience fogged over his own. It was suffocating and Dylan felt himself in danger of forgetting who he was completely.

Attempting to focus, he tried to take control of the situation.

"_Breathe, __Ishafel. __You __need __to __breathe. __Calm __down. __I __can __explain...I __think.__" _Dylan's voice slid over her own thoughts, loud, but not painful.

"_It __hurts,__" _she shouted in his mind, sharp._"__I __can't...__"_

A wordless feeling of reassurance spread through her. Even writhing, she managed to lock eyes with him across the room and fixated on their tawny color. Forcing herself into the calm, even breathing pattern that all hunters learned at a young age, she began to focus on herself; her heartbeat not Dylan's, her own thoughts, her own body.

Very briefly, she saw three da'len in an abandoned stone room. A girl reading aloud from a book; young Jowan looking up at her, mesmerized. The full glory of the stars from the top of the tower. A young Cullen's arm wrapped around the girl as she rested her head on his shoulder.

The fog in Dylan's mind folded in on itself. He knew what she was doing without having to ask and copied her, relying on the meditation he completed every morning to focus his own power.

"_That's __it__"_ his voice was lower now as she ebbed away and he felt the rising tide of himself pull back in.

And then it was gone. She was herself again but for the beating of Dylan's heart and the sighing of his lungs in her chest. He returned her gaze steadily, his eyes held the only color in the whole of his face.

"_Ishafel?"_

He had not spoken. Testing, she thought back:

"_Dylan? What's going on?"_

Michael looked from Ishafel to Dylan and back, concern still riddling his features. "Andraste's tits! What just happened?"

"I...I don't know..." Ishafel breathed out. Lisle, Leliana, and Alistair scrambled into the room, immediately crowding her. In the hall, there was the sound of paws skidding on stone and a great crash of armor at the end of the hall. Seconds later, Sirius bounded in. The Mabari managed to work his way around everyone to the bedside of his mistress and give her a sloppy doggie hello, which involved his tongue, before settling by the fire.

"Let me to the bed, Let me to the bed." Lisle shoved Leliana out of the way.

"I said move!" she glared ferociously at Alistair.

"Yes, ma'am." he jumped out of the way as though she were a genlock.

Dylan raised one eyebrow. Did _everyone_ forget that he seized as well?

"_I __did __not __forget,__" _Ishafel thought back. _"__Would __you __like __me __to __remind __them?__"_

She could hear him even when he wasn't trying? He winced. Would this be an issue?

"_Probably __just __as __well __they __forget,__" _he thought back, _"__who __knows __what __the __healers, __or __more __importantly, __their __**templar **__might __think __of __such __a __connection.__"_

Lisle pressed the back of her hand on to Ishafel's forehead.

Michael gave her a caustic look. "_I_ could have done that."

"Shut it, Laddybuck." A blue white mist covered Ishafel, flowing through her. "Bet'cha can't do that, can ya?

Dylan lit up like a Santanilla tree. So much for discretion.

"Well now," she said looking over at him in surprise, "What's this then?"

He was glowing with the same magical aura as she, he could even feel the effects, evident in the deep sigh that escaped as the tightening in his chest was soothed.

Lisle looked bemused. "Where am I probing, boy?"

"Left arm, below the elbow." He answered without having to think about it.

The light wavered, dimmed and disappeared. Ishafel slid back into the covers. She was beginning to have second thoughts about human dwellings; more specifically, beds. They were quite wonderful.

"Whatever Jowan did to you two..." She said, her voice low, the gears still turning in her head, "I've never seen it before. This beyond my expertise."

She probed a little further. "You'll have to talk to Irving about this at some point, but it feels solid, stable. My gut is telling me you'll be okay, for a time at least. That is not an invitation to ignore it, Dylan. You," She turned to Alistair, fire and brimstone in her eyes, "Make sure he gets to the tower at some point to have it looked at."

"Yes, ma'am." He squeaked. Dylan fought down a rather girlish giggle. Was this how Alistair dealt with all older women? That Grand Cleric must have left an impression!

"Good, now all of you, out! Let the girl get her rest. Spirit wounds are nasty, and she's only just woken."

"But Mistress Lisle..." Michael started crooning. She rounded on him "And you! Get yourself down to the infirmary and let Garth take a look at that shoulder. It's will only heal fully with constant attention!"

All but Sirius and Dylan were forced out by the small, iron haired mage.

"Dylan, no more than ten minutes. She does need to rest, you know."

He had so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to talk about. He had not realized how much he had relied on her judgment until she was unreachable, but when he went to her bedside he found her struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Sleep," he requested, a spell following his hand as it traced the line of her cheek.

And she did.

When she awoke several hours later, Dylan was gone but Sirius still sat by the fire. In the chair by her beside, Alistair was snoring softly. Despite the small space, the Mabari managed to lope to the bed. He buried his face in one of Ishafel's hands with a chuff. Alistair returned to the waking world as Sirius jarred his leg. The pup was unrepentant, instead jumping up on to the bed with his forepaws and sniffing at her with his big wet nose. He sneezed once, barked happily (and loudly!) in her face and gave one giant lick from clavicle to forehead. Satisfied, he romped back to the fire and resumed his lolling there. Alistair watched the whole event with a sleepy smile that caused the corners of her own mouth to respond.

"_Aneth __ara,_ Alistair."

"Lisle has given me strict instructions to send for food the moment you wake up. Can you- do you feel like eating?"

She smiled as she sank into the sheets. It was brave of him to be willing to defy that healer. Thankfully, her stomach roared in response.

"I would love some food."

As he spoke to the maid, she noticed a pile of large books lying around the chair.

"What are these?" She asked with suspicion.

"Oh! Uh, well, Lilse said that reading to people in the state you were in, it helps them recover faster, so I, uh..."

She smiled at him. A truly brilliant smile. "You tried to help. _Ma__serannas,_Alistair_._Thank you."

She picked up the heaviest book, turning the pages with their strange markings. "I do not remember. What was it about?"

"Elven history. I thought you would be, ah, less interested in human...things..."

Her eyes narrowed. Never a good sign. "Humans have records on the Elvenhan? Are there more?"

"Yes, Eamon has an extensive library..."

"I must read them all, and bring the knowledge back to my clan." It was a blunt statement that brought with it a problem.

"But you can't... Can't you not...?"

Her face grew less determined, more sheepish. "Will you teach me?"

Ishafel never asked for anything. Go on watch, rescue the Qunari, kill the unspeakable horrors. All orders. Dylan was the same way.

It felt nice to be asked for once.

"Well, I've never done it before..." Her face fell before he continued "but I will certainly try."

He looked at the giant tome in her lap "Let's...start with something easier."

The next few days alternated between flashes of consciousness and sleep for Ishafel as her spirit healed itself, helped along by the cranky Lisle and her apprentice, a shy boy named Garth. In between waking and sleeping, Alistair attempted to make good on his promise and while sometimes Ishafel didn't quite understand him, she was making progress.

"C-A-T...kkkk- at. Cat!" She shouted at the word on the page as she forced herself to continue after Alistair had gone down for supper.

"No, Ishi, that's a book. B-OOOOO-K. Cats go meow." Michael leaned in the door frame, observing her. "That is also not a cup."

Ishafel scowled at him. He smiled.

"There now, you must be getting better." he said as he walked over to the chair by her bedside. "Your pleasant facial expressions are back."

Ishafel's scowl morphed into a glare, and she slammed her new book shut a little harder than she intended. "What do you want, Michael?"

He smiled at her whimsically. "What most people want I suppose: wealth, power, revenge...Oh, you mean right now, I suppose?" He held up a hefty jar in triumph. "To get away from our charming, curly haired healer and her shy attache. The old biddy can't heal me if she doesn't have this." he chuckled manically before her noticed the Ishafel's reaction. Michael was puzzled as he watched a myriad of expressions and interesting colors pass over Ishafel's face. He was more than a little surprised when Ishafel looked up at him with intent to kill and held out her hand.

"Give me that! Shame on you! Healers should be treated with the respect!" It was a lesson the smallest dal'en was taught before they could talk. It was amazing that a man at least 25 winters could not understand something so basic.

"If you want it..." He dangled the jar over her head. "by all means, take it."

As she reached out to swipe and he pulled back, he let out a bloodcurdling scream. The jar fell neatly into Ishafel's lap as he moved away, grabbing his shoulder and making new strides in the field of profanity. She opened the balm, and could smell the soothing healing magic within.

"Michael, come here. Let me help you..."

"No!" he spat through grit teeth, angrily snapping at her over his shoulder. A shudder racked his frame. He turned away, boring imaginary holes in the stone until he felt a light touch on his other shoulder. Ishafel was standing beside him, swaying was more apt. she was not ready to be back on her feet, but she had clamored out of bed to help him anyway. His well hidden concern for her health let him allow her to guide him back to the chair by her bedside.

"Remove your shirt," she ordered.

"Why, Ishi! I never realized..." he joked through the pain. That one had been to good to pass up.

"_Now._"

He slipped the thin cotton off his shoulders, exposing the problem area.

"How much?"

"Usually two handfuls."

He hissed at the combined coolness of fingers and ointment hit the hot pain. After a minute or so, he began to relax as her light fingers massaged the minty balm into the skin underneath his shoulder. She watched as he attempted to keep his muscles rigid, as though he were trying to hold the pain within.

Ishafel suddenly remembered a pertinent fact from her time with the Dalish.

"I knew a hunter; good man, an excellent shot. His partner and bondmate died while hunting on her own when he had decided to visit a friend. He never forgave himself. "If only I'd been there," he would say. After we sang her to the Creators, he started to get into accidents. Charged by a restless halla, cut his wrist while woodworking, things like that. He would refuse healing."

Michael eyed her warily under a hank of black hair that had fallen across his eyes.

"He felt responsible for her death. He didn't feel he deserved to live after he had failed her. The Keeper and the Hahren tried to make him understand otherwise, but right after the spring thaw, when the rivers were at there most violent, he disappeared. We sent out search parties but... we never found him."

Michael's tension eased as her hands kneaded a sore spot up toward his neck. Unconciously, he shifted towards her. "Poor bastard."

"Love, devotion and loyalty should not be used to justify hurting yourself." she replied. "Get better, grow stronger and exercise the Creators' given right to vendetta."

He said nothing for awhile, just breathed. When he started speaking, he couldn't stop.

"I wasn't supposed to be at Ostagar, you know. One of the reasons Fergus sent me to find out what the delay was in the first place. I was supposed stay with mother and Sylphie, look after things while Father and Fergus were gone. I'm the youngest child. I don't know if that means anything to the Dalish. Fergus is- was- the heir and Sylphie was always the apple of father's eye. I was just the third child, the spare who had embarrassed the family at court and now had to be cooped up until the scandal blew over, all the while receiving lectures from mother and Sylphie about proper behavior and being pressured to marry so it wouldn't happen again. I just... wanted a chance to prove myself. And Fergus of course, wasn't too happy to see me. Asked me if I thought war was a game. The last time I spoke to my brother...he called me weak minded..."

He bent low, his head in his hands. "And now they are all dead. I am the last Cousland. Left because Loghain and Howe considered me too insignificant to kill. That is the greatest insult..." He laughed weakly.

"If I had been at home when Howe attacked... Sylphie was no slouch. You should have seen her with a broadsword. The Iron Maiden, that's what the men use to call her. She would have stood to the last man. If I had been there, would she have died? Would Mother have died? Maker, why can't I shut up." He turned away, clapping his hand over his mouth.

"It's not alright."

"I- what?" he coughed, "I don't think that's what your supposed to say to someone in my position."

"What happened to them, it's terrible. Do you know if they would be alive right now if you were there? You don't, and you never will. Carry that with you for the rest of your life, and do better by the others you love in the future, but remember the pain of knowing things could have been different if you had acted differently..." She hesitated, and then added "That is what I do."

He looked up at her and for a moment they held each other's gaze. The coldness had ebbed from his eyes, leaving them a clear emerald and showing something of that intelligent, world weary man she had seen so fleeting at the inn. He moved towards her and...

"Michael! What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Dylan looked extremely annoyed. This feeling was completely understandable given that while at dinner he had become extremely angry, to the point of snapping at the Arlessa. That same anger had flared up so suddenly that he spilled a glass of wine down his front. An accident Sirius was all too willing to take advantage of, jumping up from under the table to attempt to climb up Dylan to get at the wine. The dog apparently preferred a good vintage. It had all created a spectacle so amusing that he was quite sure Leliana had stopped breathing at some point for laughing so hard and Morrigan may have smiled. Dylan would have been content to laugh it off, if the feeling had not been followed by sadness so strong that he felt as though someone had hit him. It was then that he noticed the Cosuland was missing. By now, everybody knew where Michael went when he disappeared.

The nobleman's veneer snapped back into place, and Michael gave a lazy half smile as he rose to leave. "Nothing terrible, Dylan. Put away that face. We just got into a particularly heated debate about the weather."

"Ishafel?" He looked at Michael warily.

"I think it will rain tomorrow." She said sharply, the look on her face was ferocious. Dylan was absolutely sure they were both lying out of their asses.

"And I think the sun will shine. You see our problem, Dylan?" Michael smirked. "I will leave you to your rest, Ishi. "

"Don't call me that!" she hissed as he exited. Sighing, she fell back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

"No." She did not open her eyes.

Dylan sat on the edge of the bed. "You were so distraught I thought I was going to drown in the emotion. Can you at least tell me why?"

"He …reminded me of someone, Dylan, that's all." The bleariness of her eyes could have been caused by tiredness, not tears, but somehow Dylan didn't think so.

He picked up a book from the floor. "Practice your reading. Focusing on something else will help you feel better."

He settled into Michael's abandoned chair as she read B-A-T aloud and cracked his own book. Hand of Winter wasn't going to learn itself, after all, and he preferred that nothing else make Ishafel feel so awful.

* * *

"You have waited long enough! You must do something! Weeks have been lost; you must save my husband!"

Dylan was grateful that they had been able to stave off this conversation until Ishafel was at least well enough to travel. Her injury had been an impediment in more ways than one. According to Teagan, his runners to both the Tower and Denerim had not returned, and it was well past the time for check in.

"We need healers better than any Georges can provide for Eamon, and we need them soon. I do not wish to see my brother leave us like Jowan...I'm sorry for your loss, Dyl.

Jowan had died two days ago, taking an unexpected turn for the worse. Eerily, his death coincided with a sudden upturn in Ishafel's recovery. Even Lisle found it strange, and suggested they get themselves to the Tower that much faster. Dylan, who had previously believed he would never recover from his friend's betrayal, was now grappling with the much more menacing specter of being the cause of his friend's demise. His friend, and Dylan realized that Jowan had been his friend to the last, now rested under the roots of a sapling. Ishafel's idea. Far from the palace gates. That one had been Isolde's.

"What was your runner doing in Denerim, Teagan?"

"He was there to find a scholar my brother has been funding, a Brother Gentitvi."

"I hardly think scholarly pursuits are of any import at a time like this."

Tegan scratched the back of his head as he chose his next words, unfortunately Isolde beat him to it.

"Because Andraste's Ashes are the only thing that can save my Eamon!"

"Andraste's Ashes?" Ishafel asked.

"Ashes of the Prophet Andraste." Leliana explained. "After she was burned in Minrathous, her followers are said to have gathered them up and built a shrine to her somewhere in Ferelden. Supposedly, anyone who touches them is cured of all illness and injury. People have been searching for them for ages with no luck. "

Dylan gave her a skeptical look, "That's a myth, Isolde. I 'd like to think that things are not so desperate we need to resort to chasing after fairy tales. After all, he's not declining. Irving is the best healer in Ferelden and has dealt with illness brought on both by poisons and demonic possessions before. The Tower is our best choice."

She looked even more frustrated with them, if that were possible.

"More healers? I have had every healer in the county here with no results! Those ashes are Eamon's only hope! Find them!"

"Isolde, do I need to remind you that our guests are not merely travelers but Grey Wardens racing against a Blight?" Teagan replied, his tone warning

"They have stay'd 'ere and taken advantage of our 'ospitality. Iz time the repay the favor!" she shouted, on the verge of being shrill. Her accent became thicker the angrier she became. A great warning surge of anger built in Ishafel's chest, anger that was not her own. Her eyes slid over to Dylan. Isolde was not the only one angry.

"What favor?" He lashed out, his voice low and even and unmistakeably dangerous. "The favor of losing a good man in order to save your son? Nearly having myself and Ishafel killed because you failed to warn us properly? I think we've done more than enough to repay your hospitality!"

"Enough, Enough! Pointless bickering will get us nowhere!" Strangely enough, it was Michael who stepped in to play peacemaker. "Isn't that one of your favorite lines, Dylan? There is an easy solution to this. Teagan and I have already discussed reestablishing my contacts in the Palace and Denerim city proper. I will find your rogue scholar, Isolde. In the meantime Dylan and Ishi dearest-"

"_Don't call me that!"_

"-can consult Irving and continue their Wardening. What do you all say?"

"It is the most efficient way," Leliana commented. "Two birds with one stone. Oh, I always did hate that expression."

"We have wasted enough time here." Sten agreed audibility, before relapsing back into his usual grumbling. Beside him, Sirius yipped encouragingly.

"Then we will set out while we still have light." Dylan agreed, "I will tell Bodahn. The clever man managed to restock, Maker knows how, and wishes to continue on with us.

It did not take long to prepare, Leliana and Sten had packed their bags days ago. By noontide, they stood in the courtyard, ready to say their goodbyes. Michael and Leliana spoke the longest, he with his usual mocking expression and wicked grins and she with her serene smile and chirping laughter. Watching them both out of the corner of her eye, Ishafel thought the conversation seemed strangely terse. When Michael took Leliana's hand in both of his, she looked almost as though she wanted to pull away, instead of laughing at him.

She didn't have much time to think on it, as Michael approached her next.

"What was that about?" She couldn't keep the curiosity from voice.

"Afraid that I've gone and pledged my heart to another, Ishi? Don't you worry; I only have eyes for you, dear heart."

She frowned at him. "Don't be absurd, and don't avoid the question. Were you speaking about... the issue you discussed with me before the battle?"

He smiled wanly. "Oh Ishi, can't you just trust me?"

"Of course not!"

He brought his arm up deceptively fast and she found her chin captured by his hand, forcing it up to meet his inspection. His green eyes were intense behind his lazy expression. "Have I ever given you cause to doubt me, even once?"

"You abandoned your station."

The grip on her chin tightened considerably, lips flashing from smirk to scowl. "I never thought you so cruel as to use words spoken in a moment of weakness against a man." He searched her face: Amber eyes molten, full of fire mouth set, the looping lines of her vallaslin wrinkled in her displeasure, "Maker but Dylan was a lucky man, and didn't even know it."

"Wha-" She started and then was cut off rather suddenly by Michael's lips upon her own. He held her there, his lips hot and smooth and overwhelming, folding her mouth into his own. It lasted no more than a batting of confused eyelids. He pulled her forward so his mouth was almost on her ear. "'Til we meet again, Ishi dearest." With that he released her, she stumbled forward as he strode towards Dylan, Alistair and Teagan, backs turned and oblivious to the interesting spectacle behind them.

Mythal bless and keep her! What was that about?

"He is a shrewd one, is he not?" Morrigan purred over her shoulder, nearly giving Ishafel a heart attack. "Tell me, did you get the answer to your question?"

Elgar'nan! It was all a trick!

"I'm sure the previsions will- Maker, why is Ishafel cursing like that?"

"A nasty Dalish habit, I'm sure." Michael commented, wearing a large cat got the canary grin that was completely inappropriate for the mundane conversation they were having.

Alistair gave him a hard look.

"Well, Michael, it has been interesting traveling with you. May the Maker guide your steps." Dylan said, shaking his hand.

"Oh, don't be so formal, Dylan." Michael clapped a hand on his shoulder. "This is not the last time we'll see each other, surely. Teagan will relay my communiques and we will see what my contacts can dig up on your Grey Warden fellows. There may be more of you that slipped the net. You are hard to kill after all."

Dylan grinned despite himself. "Yes, well... let's hope that luck continues."

* * *

It was terribly quiet without Michael, Dylan realized as night approached several hours later.

Sten and Sirius led the group, a vanguard he was becoming accustomed to. Leliana was singing softly, only slightly ahead of himself, in a language that could have been Orlesian, swinging her bow to and fro at her side. He had no idea where Morrigan was as she had shapeshifted some time ago. Alistair walked beside a quiet Ishafel, talking amicably but not getting a response.

His eyes were fastened on the back of Ishafel's head. She was extremely agitated, but he couldn't grasp why. He had learned, and now had a giant headache for his troubles, that if Ishafel had thoughts she wished to keep to herself, she could. He had been trying to get a read on her mind ever since they left Redcliffe, but while he knew she was upset and knew it had something to do with Michael, he couldn't tell exactly what it was. And something to do with Michael could have been anything really.

He highly doubted she missed his company.

She stopped at a clearing. "We should make camp for the night."

He agreed. "Alistair, Leliana, why don't the two of you help Bodahn with the tents?"

As soon as they were out of earshot, he approached her.

"Well, let's have it then." He said, taking her by the arm, pulling her further out of earshot.

She blinked, surprised by Dylan's forwardness. "Have what? I carry no extra provisions."

Ha, cute. If it were anyone but Ishafel, he would have considered that evasion. The Dalish must be incredibly straightforward to breed such innocence.

"Did you know that when you are upset, in the kind of melancholia you are currently indulging, I feel it too? Do you have any idea how horrible it is to be distraught and confused and not know why?"

A third emotion welled up and consumed the other two. She was furious, and it was very clear who she was furious with. It raised his own ire, he was tired of all these outbursts. She was not a child!

"_How __dare __you_demand my feelings as if you have a right to them!" She shouted, causing heads to turn at the nearby campsite.

"What do you expect me to do when you sulking so obviously!" he snapped back. "I want to help you, that's all.

"You want to feel better. You do not see me complaining about all the machinations going on in _your_ brain. Tell me, Dylan, do you realize how often you think of the fact that book your so focused on is stolen? Are you aware of how feel you about it?"

He recoiled, momentarily stunned.

"'Tis a most self-righteous stance, you take." Morrigan interrupted the two of them. She was standing where Ishafel was sure a blackbird had been a moment before. "Brave, considering that we both know the reason has nothing to do with Dylan."

Ishafel inclined her head towards Morrigan, a strange look on her face. Her ears turned slightly pink.

"It has nothing to do with what your thinking, I assure you."

"Doesn't it?" Her lips formed a smile that was halfway between mocking and genuine laughter. "It's when your brooding started, is it not? All this frustration, t'was but a simple kiss-"

"Kiss? Who kissed?" Leliana asked, an out of place, mad gleam in her eye. Dylan was reminded strongly of the circle gossips when they had receive a particularly damning piece of information.

"Were you not there?" Morrigan asked, her face impassive.

"Oh, are you talking about Dylan and Ishafel?" she looked cheated. "That hardly counts, does it."

He raised a fiery eyebrow. "Kiss, what kiss?"

Creators. She was going to kill Morrigan and leave her entrails for the dread wolf! A part of her wondered if all shems inspired such murderous intent, or just the group she traveled with?

"Oh, did no one explain the spell to you?" Leliana asked with curiosity. Dylan loved discovering unknown magic. Anyone who spent more than ten minutes with him knew it.

Dylan was ignoring her, staring at Ishafel with a look that bordered on disgust. "You're upset because you kissed me?"

Morrigan smiled and Ishafel wanted to curse. Very clever. She wasn't sure why, but the witch had planned this.

"No, I-"

A sudden cloudburst of rain put an end to the conversation, but it had the effect of making things awkward. Dinner was a silent affair, with only Alistair and Leliana attempting any kind of conversation that was stamped out by the icy quiet between Dylan and Ishafel. They took separate watches; his first, hers last. The rain eased by the end of the evening, enough that Alistair got a fire started. Ishafel could see the flickering shadows of him and Sirius against the fabric of the tent Bodahn had provided.

She was too irritated to join them. Instead, she poured her frustration into something practical: The care and upkeep of her armor. Even as she worked at parts of the dirty and cracked leather, the look on Dylan's face kept pushing it's way to the forefront of her thoughts. The aura that surrounded her was numb, and oddly void like.

Creators, they were preforming blood magic! Not...

The truth was that she hadn't thought much of the method of delivery of Jowan's spell. A means to an end. It had none of the significance of what she had come to expect from joining lips and tongue and teeth among the Dalish, or the soft reassurance of the first and final kiss she and Tamlen had shared, or even the touch of lips on lips that Michael had surprised and so upset her with.

She thought of the panic that coursed through her as the demon struck Dylan. He had moved to protect _her_. His skin soft and clammy beneath her touch as she lifted him, she thought he was dying. She would have done anything... she _had_ done things humans would consider unforgivable. A man was dead! But they had _Linhimuth,_blood debt. She was obligated; it was the only possible didn't actually remember kissing, more sticking her tongue on top of his in a pool of blood in his mouth, which was most certainly _not_ a kiss.

Unbidden, the image of Dylan in the prison of the demons arms flashed in her mind, naked and flushed and, if his vocalizations were anything to go by, _wanting_...

She threw down her cloth, and tried to control herself. This was ridiculous, but the vivid memory persisted, and she found herself wondering if he remembered the feel of the demon's lips on his pulse, her legs around his waist. The cleaning cloth dropped from her hands at the thought of skin on skin. Her lips parted slightly, suddenly dry and she was very aware of her own tongue as it darted out to wet them.

There was movement outside her tent, and it was then that she remembered she was sharing her thoughts, and who she was sharing them with. Her ears turned blood red in embarrassment as a figure came closer, breaching the tent.

"I-"

Weapons and armor scattered everywhere as Sirius clamored inside, sending all he made contact with flying. The dog had grown tired of his mistress' bad mood and had decided to take matters into his own paws. Pouncing on Ishafel, he proceeded to lavish attention on her in a particularly dog-like fashion. She fought for release.

"Stop! Stop!" she laughed.

He woofed instead.

Hours later, when Leliana came to collect her for watch, she found dog and girl asleep. Ishafel's arms were wrapped around Sirius' neck, smile on her face and all thoughts of Dylan and Michael momentarily forgotten.

* * *

_This chapter marks the end of part 3. A big thank you to ADTR fan92, Shadowwolf101286, Japboix1, RatedRSuperStar87 for their reviews last time, and to those who favorite and story alerted in the last month. A double thanks for almostinsane for both reviewing and beta-ing. Stay tuned for Part 4: Arcane Mastery coming soon!_


	20. Part 4: Chapter 1: Murderous

_I'm back! I actually started this chapter 10 minutes after I finished Consequences and only just finished it yesterday. There were three full completed drafts and I wasn't happy with any of them so I combined them to make this. There is a lot of dialogue, but happily most of it is original._

_ Thanks to all of those who reviewed last time: Shadowwolf102612; Japboix1; RatedRsuperstar87. A special thanks to S3ek for pointing out spelling errors! (That's what I get for making changes after my beta has proofread). It is much easier to fix these things right away than after the document expires. As always, a huge thanks to almost insane for betaing this!  
_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Part 4: Arcane Mastery

Chapter 1: Murderous

"Keep running!"

The shouting behind them increased as the pursuers caught the trail. Frantically, Ishafel plunged into the underbrush, crashing through leaves and briar. A hazy part of her mind tried to remember that this was not how you moved in thick growth but the panic had deep roots. It didn't matter as she was being dragged along by someone much taller than her, falling over her feet to keep up. Long, rose colored hair glinted in the shards of moonlight that penetrated the trees.

"My lady! Head north! I'll try'n lure them away."

"Nidia," the woman rasped, out of breath, "It's too dangerous! You'll be killed for sure if they catch you."

"They'll kill us all anyway. Hurry!"

The speaker tore away from them making as much noise as she could. Ishafel sniffled and slung her arm across her nose to clean the mess. Her cheeks were stained with tears.

When had she started crying?

Her foot caught on some loose soil. Stumbling forward, she fell flat on her face, hand ripped from the woman's grasp.

"Poppet!"

She leaned down and scooped Ishafel up. "Stay strong, Poppet! Mother will keep you safe."

Over her shoulder, Ishafel could see bright spots of torchlight approaching the bank. Somewhere close, a Mabari howled.

"Maker...they have dogs. The woman muttered in fear.

Holding her so tight it was hard to breathe, the woman plunged into a nearby stream, struggling against the current. When it was clear they could go no further in the water, they scrambled back up the bank and continued to rip through the forest sopping wet. The roots and leaves suddenly turned to the packed earth of a country road. Unsure of where it might lead but desperate, she tore down the path and was rewarded by a small chantry at the end.

A scream cut through the normal sounds of the night. Ishafel's savior turned toward the sound, sending the world spinning.

"Nidia..."

A clamor of boots behind them set the world awhirl again. They continued running with renewed vigor, the tilt of the land adding to her speed.

"Sanctuary!" she shouted; hoping beyond hope that a figure would appear at the door; a Brother, a Mother, anyone.

The small place was quiet, though candles flickered in the windows. There was no sound, no sign that they had been heard. Abandoning all caution, her voice rose to a fever pitch as they flew down the hill.

Sanctuary!"

Behind them, Ishafel could see shadowy figures in mail appearing on the road, pointing at them. She heard someone say "Before she...Chantry!" A clamor of mail and dirt rose up.

They reached the bottom of the hill and the Chantry door. She was spun again as the woman put her down and pounded on the door. "Help us! Please help us!" She sobbed.

Wide-eyed and clinging to the woman's ruined skirts, the small version of Ishafel began to watch the armored shadows emerge from the wood.

Templars.

"It's no use, Revka. It's not like anyone could help you anyway. You've been harboring a mage."

The singsong voice provoked a fear beyond all comprehension. It echoed in the clearing, preceding its owner. Ishafel lost all self-control, turning to claw at the wooden door barring escape. "You know what happens now."

The woman tucked Ishafel behind herself, safe between the door and her own body.

The man who stepped in to the clearing could have been handsome if his features didn't betray a slight twist to them, a tightness that revealed the kind of man who reveled in the discomfort of others.

"Ser Conal." She stepped forward, afraid but undaunted. "I beg of you, serah, leave the boy be."

To her credit, she didn't flinch at what she said next. "Do whatever you wish with me, but don't harm him."

Conal barked in laughter. The sound blended with the hunger in his eyes to render him more armored wolf than man.

"The time for bargaining has long passed, my dear. _That_ offer ended the moment you fled Kirkwall." His lip curled upward to open into a sneer. "A shame really, for someone so beautiful to be tainted by magic in the family line. No wonder your husband was so quick to denounce the child as a bastard. Nearly as quickly as he denounced _you_."

The figure in front of Ishafel stood her ground, chin held high.

"Revka Amell, you are hereby charged with aiding and abetting a dangerous apostate-"

"He is four years old!"

"And fleeing chantry judgment-

"Please!" She pleaded as the Templars began to close ranks, searching for a sympathetic face. "You don't have to do this. Help us, Maker, help us... please!" One of the men started for them, eyes fixed on Ishafel's, but he wasn't as fast as Ser Conal's sword. At first she didn't understand the thunk, or the burble that came after; a flash of steel where it ought not to have been. Compression came creeping anyway, its cruel tendrils wrapping around her heart and beginning to squeeze.

He tossed her to the ground like so much rubbish, and could not hide the satisfied look on his face. Ishafel could see her eyes and mouth from where she stood. She spoke, but she could not hear the words, and then the light in her eyes was gone. It was just her small self and the Templars now. Ser Conal came towards her, steel in hand. The hunger had not left his eyes.

"Maker, have mercy!"

Her head snapped to the side. An old woman in a nightgown stood beside a man in hastily donned chain-mail.

"What evil has been done on the steps of His house?"

The wolf straightened, attempting to play the sheep.

"I am Knight-Captain Conal of Kirkwall, Mother. This woman has been protecting this apostate for six months. When we attempted to apprehend her, she fled, and was dealt the justice she deserved by endangering us all." He moved toward Ishafel "We will be taking the boy with us..."

The man stepped in front of her.

"I am Knight_ Commander_ Willem of Kinloch Hold." His voice was quiet and even but held the unmistakable edge of authority.

"We heard what this woman said to you. It is beneath a Templar to take advantage of their charges' families! She was seeking Sanctuary! It was her cry that brought us to this unhappy scene in the first place."

Ser Conal ignored any reference to the dead woman at his feet.

"He is a Krikwall apostate! Who can be sure what might have occurred outside the gallows? We should perform the rite of tranquility-"

"He is a child whose mother has been slain in front of him!" The Mother shouted horrified. Ishafel squirmed as she was pulled into genteel old arms.

Ser Conal's eyes narrowed dangerously, flickering between anger and madness in the firelight. "You will hand over that child!" He held his still bloodied sword aloft.

"I would rethink that, if I were you, Ser Conal." Wilhelm's men, as hastily dressed as their commander, revealed themselves. Their bows and swords were at the ready. Conal's men stood down immediately, only the man himself keeping a weapon drawn.

"Greagoir, take these men into custody for murder. Mother Mae; please take this boy to the other young charges. Perhaps you could help get him cleaned up? I will...attend to his mother."

"Of course," She got a nasty shock as Ishafel darted out of her grip, focused on the fall of red hair on the ground.

"Mother! Mother!" Her own voice was high pitched and boyish, but it didn't concern her. She fell on the fallen body, the now lifeless corpse. Ishafel looked into the dead woman's face. She had been incredibly beautiful, that much was plain. There was a familiar dusting of freckles, a quirk in her mouth, that reminded her of someone...

"Mamae," Ishafel said as she caressed the poor dead woman's face.

"Mamae." A warped voice, gigglish and dark mimicked her. She looked up

At the edge of the clearing was a man. Not quite a man. He was a man shaped hole in the cloth of this place. The color and noise drained into him. A deep hum permeated the scene causing the fabric of it to ripple and blur. The older mother was washed out and faceless as she lifted her up. And when she was lifted, she did not go, rather she watched a small red headed blob disappear into a chantry spilling into the ground like drops of hot summer's rain. The darkness was speaking, but she couldn't hear the words. Rising as the fallen woman's body melted away she moved towards the figure; but with every step she took he seemed father away. Not until the creature spoke his last word could she make out the sound.

"... Ishafel…"

Her name wrapped around her, echoed in her ears and bones.

"Ishafel," a more familiar voice was honey in the cave of her skull.

"Tamlen?"

"Ishafel!"

She was suddenly brought back to the waking world by a blunt force making contact with the side of her jaw. Sirius barked sharply. Her eyes flew open. The world slid to the side and back again as she reoriented herself. This was wrong. She had been sleeping. Why wasn't she in her tent? Why was she standing? Blinking, she looked up at her attacker. Leliana looked as dazed as Ishafel. Her hand still held high, as if she was ready to strike again. A scuffling at the edge of camp revealed Dylan hurrying back from watch, his left hand unconsciously at his temple. Alistair was close behind.

"Maker, what is going on Alistair started.

"Ishafel." Dylan said with a heavy, clearly forced calm. "Drop the dagger."

She looked down at her hands. Her silver blade, emblazoned with wolves and trees, the gift from Tamlen, rested in her palm. Its point was turned on Leliana.

Her legs gelled like pond slime. She slid to the ground, the dagger racing to meet the dirt before her knees.

"_Abelas,_ Leliana," she said, still dazed, "I did not what I was doing."

Leliana leapt to help, not offended in the slightest. "It's alright," she said, She tucked an arm around Ishafel, her hand rubbing small, comforting circles on Ishafel's back. "You were not menacing _me_, rather, heading out into the forest. Just walking towards the trees, holding that blade at hilt and point; like you were offering it to someone..."

"That dagger..." Alistair's recognition as he joined them was immediate. Sirius whimpered. It was the blade that Jowan had used during the blood magic ritual.

Dylan unwrapped Ishafel from Leliana's embrace, replacing her arm with his own. The tension in her shoulders ebbed as they touched. Looking into his face, she could see the questions in his eyes that had nothing to do with the dagger.

"Leliana, tell Sten he will take the next watch with Sirius. Ishafel needs some time to recover. Come." With a slight push, he managed to guide her back into her own tent.

Not a moment after the flap had settled, it opened again.

"Alistair..."

"I'm not leaving." he informed them both, sitting down on the camp chair Ishafel herself had been using earlier. "I know what this is about. Well, I think I know what it's about, I don't actually know. But if it has to do with the blood magic, I should be here."

Dylan's smile was brittle, "And the Templar training shows, I was wondering how much longer it would take."

"Hey!" Alistair exclaimed, caught between alarm, sorrow and skepticism. "I'm a former Templar _recruit_, remember? And it's not like I'm going to start screaming maleficar from the Chantry steps, Dylan. The bell tower would be so much better."

They both stared at him.

"What? Too soon?"

A breathy laugh came out through Dylan's nose, that didn't quite qualify as a snort

"We're the last remaining Grey wardens. We need to stick together. As much as I don't like it, none of it is your fault, really. Wrong place, wrong tim-"

"And what good will this 'sticking together do'? It's seems its only causing the place to become quite crowded."

Morrigan sat cross legged at the back of the tent. Nobody knew how she gotten there and they all knew well enough by now (even Alistair) that it was best just not to ask.

"What do you want?" Alistair snapped.

"T'was quite plain something was wrong from my fire. I came to see what all the noise was about. Have you asked yet, fool? Or do you intend to continue spouting platitudes?" She turned to the two wardens, both who had gone still. "Well?"

Dylan spoke first.

"I'm not sure, actually" He admitted. "I was thinking of…that is… We are close to the place where… the forest here reminded me of…" He trailed off.

"I didn't mean to do it." Ishafel said quietly. "I dozed off and it just ... I'm..." she swallowed thickly, "Sorry, _lethallin_. For both my intrusion and for…"

"Intrusion?" the lines around Alistair's mouth deepened. "You were in you tent all night, where could you possibly intrude?"

"Well, it is very clear that whatever has taken place has made both you unable to complete a full sentence." Morrigan frowned, dissatisfied. "Do you intend to enlighten us?"

"Ishafel wandered into a memory of mine while she slept."

"What, Wha- how is that even possible."

"Another side effect of Jowan's botched spell." Dylan rubbed his forehead wearily. "We seem to be able to breach each other's thoughts."

"Well as delightful as that is, it hardly explains Ishafel running towards the forest, blade drawn in her sleep."

"There was singing. And a man he was speaking but the words were so faint…"

"I saw it too, sort of." Dylan confirmed. "Up to that point, it was just a memory."

"I know _that_ dream." Alistair shuddered. "But bad dreams are a hallmark of being a grey warden, I'm sure it was just…." But he didn't look sure, if anything he looked more worried than before.

"Hardly," Morrigan sniffed. "But the fool is right, there is nothing we can do at the moment. Be on your guard. And do not sleep with knives lying about."

Ishafel snorted. "And you should not sleep with magic lying about. How will I defend myself if I give up my daggers?"

"We can look after you." Dylan cut in. Ishafel shot him a glare that until that moment had been reserved for the truly idiotic and Michael.

"No. It is _not_ going to happen."

"Then remind me to give your tent a wide berth in the future, lest I have my eyes cut out while you are sleepwalking." Morrigain dripped acidly under risen eyebrows.

"Done." Ishafel responded, irritated.

"Better to cut out her tongue." Alistair muttered. Dylan gave him a look. "I was only joking, after all her tongue would probably split the knife clean in two."

Ishafel had to fight to keep the smirk from her face. Alistair saw it anyway, and waggled his eye brows at her.

They all sat for a moment. It was not companionable silence; rather nobody wanted to be the first to leave. Finally Morrigan broke the stalemate, flowing out of the tent without a by your leave. Alistair followed soon after, giving Ishafel a small smile, a squeeze that Dylan felt on his own forearm, and a rather feeble reassurance that it was probably nothing to worry about.

Neither Dylan nor Ishafel moved. After some time in silence, Ishafel picked up a boot and began to work the leather. She concentrated on the task at hand, rather than meeting Dylan's eyes when she started to speak.

"How old were you? When you first knew?"

"Four," He sighed, hunching over his own knees. "It was an accident. I knocked over my mother's teacup while playing. The liquid never touched the ground. It just hung there. She grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to never do it again. That it was our secret. She was good about keeping me in check. I think I had an uncle or a cousin who was forced into the Circle that was giving her advice on it…"

"How did they find out?"

"It was my fault. Nidia, my nursemaid, she had attracted the attention of a visiting nobleman's guard. I'm not sure how he got in, but they were in the courtyard and he was shouting at her. She tried to get away and he grabbed her, started to drag her towards the gate to the street. I didn't know what to do. I ran out into the yard. Cook and one of the manservants were already down there. The man had a sword." Dylan tried to grab onto that first time he cast a spell, but the essence of the feeling escaped words. "One moment he was standing there, holding Nidia. The next, his breeches were on fire."

Ishafel snorted. "His breeches?"

Dylan sighed, "Yes, well, the man went screaming from the house. And the next day the Templars showed up." He stiffened at the memory. "You saw the rest. It's a fairly typical story; if you have a story at all. All some remember are the stone walls of the Circle. At least I have something more."

She placed the boot aside. "I am sorry, _lethallin_…I didn't know what I was doing. I would have never entered something so private without your permission. Even then…The Keepers tell us that some memories are to be left with the trees. Forever there but lost in the forest."

"I knew." She looked up at him. "but you were there before I could react. It's not something I am used to… having to shield my thoughts from people."

"Do you not have to shield your thoughts from demons? Merrill always said that if she was not careful, she could hear the whispers."

"Not the same…hmmmm."

He stroked his beard, momentarily retreating into his own thoughts. She finally looked at his face, drawn by curiosity, and could almost see the idea form behind his eyes. He came back to himself suddenly. She looked away quickly, lest he think she was staring.

"Have you ever practiced meditation?"

A knitting of eyebrows occurred before he explained it to her.

"All hunters know that, to stay calm and noiseless when pursing prey, but I have never heard it practiced the way you describe."

He stood from his seat on bed.

"Join me during my sessions, I'll show you the way mages do it. It's meant to keep the demons at bay, but it might help us keep out minds free of each other."

"Dylan…" she was still not looking at him. "_Abala_s, truly. I feel this weight in my heart. It is not mine, but I feel it."

Their eyes met and he felt a powerful urge to close the gap between them, to have some kind of contact. He kept it in check.

"Now you know how I feel when you walk about angry and distressed and won't breathe a word why. What is bothering you, Ishafel? I won't judge."

She turned back to the boot, though if she made the leather anymore supple it would no longer serve the purpose of protection.

"Good night, Dylan."

"Don't you trust me?"

She stilled, hand on the second boot of the pair and then after a moment she worked it again. She kept working at it until she heard the cloth of the tent flap rustle shut.

The morning was hardly fresh. Thick piles of clouds peeping through the trees foretold of the return of the rain that had held off in their weeks at castle Redcliffe. Dylan brooded moodily, glaring at the sky. The chill in the air and a late watch, Ishafel's, not his own, saw him up long before the little sun they would get that day. Even Sten, always up and armored before well him, lay motionless in his bedroll, soft sighs barely audible over Alistair's more violent snoring.

A flicker caught the very corner of his eye. Turning to get a better look, he gave the other early riser a wry smile.

He didn't exactly know why he wasn't surprised to see Morrigan moving about her small fire as though she'd been at it for hours. He watched her as she went about the mundane task of preparing the morning meal, hefting the wood for the fire effortlessly. Wood she had acquired herself, he noticed, as she had most certainly not gone foraging with Alistair and Leliana.

She was an interesting case, that Morrigan. Very interesting…

She stopped, and he recognized the awareness of being watched, a common expression of the tower mages. He expected her to ignore him but instead her head lifted sharply and they locked eyes.

He could barely register her expression before she had returned to what looked like a pot of food cooking over the flames. He had to admit, that was wise. They had just survived Alistair's cooking, and Ishafel's was somehow nearly as bad. Not mention between the two of them, they managed to eat enough to feed a whole camp full of soldiers. He shuddered as he remembered Ishafel tearing into an unsalted leg of rabbit. She had no palette at all. Ironically, Sten and Sirius also shared her aplomb for barely edible meat. They fell on the meal rather like ravenous dogs (Sirius was excused the comparison) while he and Leliana looked on in mild horror.

He stretched, lifting his arms high above his head as he stood, uncurling himself from the front of his tent. He'd never admit it to anyone, but there was something about the Circle he missed.

Watched at every moment, yes, but at least the food was good.

"Good Morning!" He called amiably as he approached her campfire bringing his bowl. Surely, for the sake of camaraderie she would share whatever it was that smelled like porridge.

"Is it really? Do tell why." She grumbled with distaste, eyes flicking over him.

The side of his mouth quirked in mirth.

"Not a morning person, Morrigan? Or does the idea of being so close to the Circle make your nose twitch."

She drew herself up to her full height. She was a half a head taller than him, he realized as he found himself eye level with the tip of her nose. Strange he'd never noticed it before, if anything he'd thought she was shorter. He was suddenly struck by the idea that she was very good at letting others see only what she wanted.

It was a trait to be wary of, he told himself ruefully. Then again, he had never been very good with being wary when it came to beautiful women.

"Fine words coming from _you_. Let your Templars come. _I've_ done nothing _I_ need to protect others from."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The attack was unexpected. She had been friendly enough on the road to Redcliffe, although she had made herself scarce during their extended stay. He had thought it was because of her general dislike for the stone walls, a dislike Ishafel had shared (despite warming to beds), nothing to warrant anger at _him_.

"Leeches do not seek _me_ out._ My _memories are not targets for unknown denizens of the fade and little elven huntresses to _frolic_ through. _I _was not _enslaved_ by a demon."

His cheeks colored considerably. "I was not enslaved!"

She gave him a withering looking before ladling porridge-y substance into a small, rough-hewn bowl. She made no move to offer him any; instead she made herself comfortable on a nearby log. The heat of the meal rose in steamy curls around her face.

"What would you call forcibly held in the embrace of a desire demon?"

Annoyance flared. Apparently, Ishafel had been talking. He would have thought the Dalish were above gossip.

"Captured."

"Not to mention being stuck on one end of a blood magic bond that is beyond your own comprehension…"

"And who do I have to thank for that?" He asked, exasperated.

"A skill deprived blood mage." Her lips curved as she met the challenge in his voice. It was not a nice smile, more of a grimace.

"You truly think me a fool then? You're not the only one who Ishafel's been talking to..."

He hesitated at the swirl of confusion on her face. Perhaps the Dalish were above gossip after all, but then how would she know about that embarrassing situation he found himself in?

"_You_ suggested the ritual to Jowan. _You_ are the reason he performed it! _You_ are the reason…"

He stopped suddenly as realized the full berth of his own accusations, a knot forming and twisting in his chest.

She eyed him, disgust overwhelming whatever else was present.

"I am the reason you are alive!" She snapped. She paused, taking a discreet deep breath before continuing on tonelessly. "I cast no mind control on Jowan. He had every opportunity to say no, but he did not. He made his choice.

"Are you saying he decided to die?"

"He knew what was best for his own survival, and chose not to do it."

Her eyes were stormy and set in transmitting a lesson that had been learned constantly under Flemeth's tutelage.

"Learn all the pretty spells you want, if you cannot remember to look for leeches or keep yourself safe from demons you will get yourself killed sooner rather than later; and get the rest of us killed with you. I, for one, do not intend to die because you were sloppy.

"What do you intend to die of? Sourness?" He replied bitterly. It was made all the more bitter by the creeping feeling that she was right. Still, that knowledge did nothing to quell his own anger.

She looked down her nose at him. "Do not vent your anger at me for-"

"Oh, don't bother" He snapped. "Look at you. So proud, so self-righteous, so oblivious to your own flaws! It never once occurred to you to help Jowan did it? Two mages cast a better spell than one."

She opened her mouth to give what was sure to be a snarky reply, but he buzzed right through it.

"We are members of a group. A party if you like. Did it ever occur to you that we are _supposed _to help each other? Teach each other?"

"I never agreed to that." She drawled, unaffected. "How can I possibly teach someone who is so unwilling to look beyond the nose on his own face? Are you stubborn, or merely useless?"

He threw an object at the ground and stormed off. The watch had to be back by now. It was time to move on.

Morrigan frowned at his back. That had not gone at all how she had intended. Her point was a valid one, this much she had taken away. Why did he refuse to acknowledge it? And she felt nothing at the death of the hapless blood mage, she was certain, despite a discomfort in her gut at the accusation. She was sure it was nothing more than indigestion from having her morning meal so rudely interrupted.

Teach _him_? Surely he did not expect her to give up the secrets she had painstakingly wrung from Flemeth merely because he wanted them all to _play nice._ She knew mages. More so, she was coming to know Dylan Amell. For all his boyishness and charm, he wanted power; and he was not the sweet innocent he seemed so fond of pretending to be.

Did he think she was an idiot?

He was hardly worth her time at all.

So what was this restlessness she felt now, watching him go?

The object thrown away with such intensity glinted at her. Curious, she crooked a finger. The little bauble lifted itself from the ground and with a lurching gait came to float in front of Morrigan. It was band of rose colored gold barely discernible through a liberal incrusting of garnet and golden citrines.

As long as his hair was getting, Dylan did not strike her as the type to wear jewelry.

A gift then? For her?

What had she done to deserve such a…pretty…thing? Though nobody was there to see it, her eyes softened as she lifted the bangle from the spell. She fingered the gemstones with a kind of awe.

Despite learning quickly, the mirror was not the last treasure Flemeth had destroyed.

It had not escaped her that despite all his reading and obvious spell-mongering, he had never once asked her of her magic beyond those few cursory questions at Redcliffe and at Lothering. He seemed more interested in his silly book. She had no doubt sooner or later he _would_ ask, perhaps the bracelet was meant to soften her but intuition told her it was not. What did he want?

It was all very peculiar. Peculiar indeed.

If anyone was to have asked Sten, he would have told them that he preferred the silence that had fallen over the group as they trudged ever closer toward the shores of Lake Calenhad. Ishafel walked with him, well ahead of the rest of the group. She would have been welcome company, except she kept turning her head ever so slightly, as though she was trying very hard to look at someone without catching their notice.

The Mabari made an exasperated chuff at his left. There were all manner of elves, humans and dwarves in Ferelden, but Sten preferred the dogs.

Dylan walked alone. Leliana and Alistair both had quickly forsaken his storm cloud for the sunniness of each other. They were engrossed in a lively discussion about some frippery behind him. Ishafel fought down a dry heave. Her stomach had not behaved itself since the night before, immediately preceding the impromptu discussion about trust. Dylan's uncertainty and anger swirled in her gut and shadows of his disgruntled thoughts wrapped around her own, creating an odd sort of vertigo that made moving through the lightly wooded area almost unfamiliar.

It was disturbing, and it stung that it was very thing she had put Dylan through.

Pride had been taught to Ishafel very early in life, practically from the moment she had left her mother's womb. It had the side effect of making it very difficult to admit when mistakes had been made. That was the reason she told herself, that she watched him for over an hour as they walked in the thickening humidity until she finally tried to broach the subject.

She was so tired of her own cowardice that she asked her question rather bluntly.

"Are you still upset about last night?"

His face was flat and void of emotion. He didn't respond.

He continued walking until she forced out the words. "I'm…sorry…"

Still nothing, if anything his thoughts turned darker.

Frustrated, she shouted "You can't possibly expect me to go on this way… I need to…"

She stopped suddenly, realizing this conversation was all too familiar.

He turned to look at her. The pale mask stayed on his face, but only for a few seconds more as laughter gradually crept into his eyes at the sight of Ishafel's red face and slack jaw at the realization.

They were both idiots, he realized and couldn't help but laugh. The gnawing feeling at the pit of Ishafel's stomach wavered, the stinging of unfamiliar unpleasantries lessened.

It seemed that something had broken through the gloom that lay over him. Instead, he gave her a rather impish smile that made her force down a gulp.

"Ishafel, are my _feelings_ upsetting you?"

She waited, eyebrows pointing downward. Was he really going to rub it in?

He looked at her expectantly.

Fury rising, she turned away. He _was_ going to rub it in. She didn't see him anxiously tilt his head to see if anyone was watching.

"Do you think I'm useless?"

"Do not ask ridiculous questions."

She turned to look at him, smirking at first, and then frowned when she realized the question was genuine.

"No. Of course not. Last night, did you not figure out way to stop our wandering into each other's thoughts? It was you kept me alive when the taint threatened to take me. Those villagers in Redcliffe were sad to see you depart; you healed so many of their wounded. Exactly how many lives did you save? How many babies did you deliver?

"That was healing. I've been doing that since I could breathe!"

The frown of Ishafel's face wavered and dissipated as she laughed. "I hardly think you were birthing babies when you were born Dylan." The image, almost clear but not quite, flashed through his mind. A cherubic version of himself attempting midwifery caused him to snort, and then join in Ishafel's laughter.

Ahead, Sten sighed. The enemy would be able to locate the two of them in the dark under blankets of fog; they were so loud.

The two of them stood on a rise that Sten had ambled over some moments earlier, waiting for Leliana and Alistar to catch up. Dylan glanced at Ishafel sidelong, before asking offhandedly.

"What were you so upset about last night, exactly?"

Her face darkened immediately. Surely this wasn't all over kiss that hadn't really been a kiss at all? He wasn't even conscious, for Andraste's sake!

She gave him a measuring look, and sighed deeply.

"Michael."

Relief bloomed followed by a tenseness that could only be annoyance. All this ..this… fretting …had been over _Michael_?

Somewhere Dylan was sure the rogue had started to laugh at their benefit.

"He suggested that Leliana is a spy… for Orlais or Loghain or someone. It's not surprising; we knew already she is not what she seems."

"That's certainly true."

Dylan had experience with spies, on a juvenile level. There was always apprentice or two who was more interested in garnering the favor of the Templars than that of his fellow peers.

"It is different from her just lying to us." She began earnestly, "We can't just let her follow us around and give information to our enemy.

"Why ever not?" Dylan smiled, a whimsical half smile that seemed totally out of place considering the subject. She gave him a rankled look.

"That not what is done with spies."

He found himself curious. "What would do the Dalish do with spies?

She sniffed. "The Dalish do not have spies.

Well, he mused, none that they ever knew about, not with that attitude.

"This is what's bothering you? It's really quiet simple, we feed her misinformation to give the enemy. I would rather have a spy who is telling the enemy what I want to hear rather than kill one off and let them know we are on to them."

She had to admit, there was wisdom to that.

"There is also the chance that she is _not_ a spy." He noted, staying out of earshot of the two they had waited for. "We might as well give her time to prove herself rather than chase off a bow."

She nodded, continuing to walk on, letting a now comfortable silence stretch (to Sten's delight). Dylan glanced at her, hand absently stroking his trim beard as he did when presented with a real puzzle.

"Was that all?"

"Yes."

"You're lying."

She glared and turned her eyes towards the heavens in exasperation. "It is nothing, Dylan, Merely personal. My thoughts _are_ still my own."

"If I've done anything to offend you, please know it was not intentional." His tone was earnest in its sincerity. They stopped again and she rested that surprisingly small hand of hers on his shoulder.

"Dylan, thank you for your concern, but truly…it is nothing you need worry about."

He nodded, continuing forward as she drifted back towards Leliana and Alistair.

"Dylan. I do trust you, and you are not useless." He nodded.

When she said it that time, he believed her.

It was all forgotten as Bodahn waved from the road. It was the signal for trouble. Dylan smiled, more opportunity to prove himself. It was Ishafel who broke cover first, landing beside Sandal without a sound. The amiable little dwarf looked up at her placidly.

"Hullo!"

She came around to the front of the cart, Dar'misu drawn. The slip of a woman waving her arms at Bodahn started, beginning to shake at the armed presence. Ishafel lowered her sword.

"Andaran atish'an. What is the problem here?"

"Oh, thank the Maker! You must come! They are attacking the carts!" She tore away from Bodahn, waving them down the road.

Dylan climbed back onto the main road without much difficulty, followed by Alistair, Leliana and an agitated Sirius. His ears were pressed flat to his skull and he snarled at the woman's back. The last to amble out of the woods was Sten, and he was muttering something about tactical decision of the element of surprise and idiots.

"Bodahn, Sandal, take cover and keep the cart off the road until we return." Dylan ordered

"Aye. Come on, boy!" Sandal obediently began to push the cart into a nearby hollow.

The woman ran down the road, and they followed suit, soon seeing wagons over the rise, blocking the road.

Alarm sparked in Ishafel's brain. When would anyone have had time to turn the carts like that in a surprise attack? Time slowed as that spark reached her gut and she realized what was happening.

There were no bandits, just a lanky elf, seemingly alone, at the center of the glen. It was he who appeared to be the woman's destination. She turned and grinned. It was a nasty grin; the kind that belonged to children who are fond of torturing kittens.

"Ambush!"

Leliana's voice was almost drowned out by the explosion behind her followed by the crack of the tree trunk falling, blocking escape

"Death to the Grey Wardens!"

And then everything was moving far too fast.

Dylan barely got the shield up in time to deflect the first rain of arrows, arms momentarily stuck above his head as he struggled to attach it to the air around them. Not that it mattered; everyone was suddenly on the move.

Sten surged forward to meet charging marauders; a howling Sirius was at his side, aiming for throats. Leliana moved too quickly for the archers to target, one moment she was there and the next the offending archer had _her_ arrow through his skull. There was a shocked cry as a wolf materialized out of thin air and fell snarling on a group of bandits that until that point had avoided notice.

The woman who had sold them out shot a bolt of lightning at Dylan, expecting him quake in fear. Dylan caught and redirected it easily, sending instead a burst of intense cold. He chuckled; this mage was poorly trained. He stepped forwarded and let go of his control, just a little bit. Lightning danced over his robe to play across his face.

Time to show her how it was done.

He launched himself into the fight and completely missed the fact that the lanky assassin was creeping up behind him; but Alistair did not. With a roar, he moved to engage only to find the man at his back instead. The assailant's light leather armor allowed him to be far more versatile than Alistair in his plate. He swung his shield around, but was too slow to block as the elf moved in close.

He was about to plunge his blade into the side of Alistiar's exposed neck when steel met steel.

Ishafel was half suspended in air, foot actually braced on Alistair's thigh, her dar'misu stubbornly blocking the path of the blade. Using his attacker's momentum, she pushed Alistair back to the relative safety of less skilled opponents and tossed the assassin to the side, forcing him away from her. She attacked, he parried. With a snarl, she struck again. Again he blocked. They began to circle. Space began clearing in the glen for what was shaping up to be a duel. This was more because there were significantly less people alive than dead at this point, with the final thugs trying hard to saves their lives rather than complete whatever dark goal they had been set to. Morrigan and Sirius were more than happy to finish what they started for them. The death cries of the attackers mixed with doggie barks and wolfish howls.

Ishafel moved to attack again, and this time he met her halfway. She almost missed the sly, cutting grin her gave her, his golden eyes dancing meanly, as he tried to slip under her guard. It nearly worked too. From that point on there was no break in movement: only a complicated dance of blade and blade, blade and armor, parry, feint, parry, strike.

The mage woman was growing desperate. She had lasted this long, Dylan grudgingly admitted, using experience that he didn't have. She was nowhere near as skilled or as powerful, but she knew this and used it to her advantage. It was hard to shift spells to accommodate for a weaving, bobbing target, and he was left vulnerable when casting. Sweat was already pouring into his face by the time his opening came. Sirius had grown tired of waiting and darted into the path of the mage, barking. Her attention shifted and didn't have enough time to dodge the stone fist Dylan unleashed at her. She went flying.

He heard the stiff sound of clapping behind him. Morrigan, unexplainably clean of battle gore.

She looked down at the prancing Sirius. "That," she scolded, "was cheating."

The hound chuffed happily. She looked up at Dylan. "By the way, you have wonderful aim, truly."

He looked confused.

She frowned.'Twas an accident then? That makes it less impressive." She lifted one slender white arm to point at what was talking about.

Ishafel's Dar'misu shattered. The attacker's dagger came up as he moved to capitalize on the handicap. There was a sound of steel striking steel and a cry of pain.

"Brasca!"

The assailant's dagger flew across the field. Narrowly dodging a throwing knife meant for her the throat, Leliana nocked another arrow, aiming for the second dagger. He leapt forward arcing slowly in the air. Leliana slid forward to meet him. She pressed her body to the ground, ready to fire when he reached apogee. He twisted himself in midair, forcing him to the floor much quicker than anticipated, the remaining dagger already in the sweep of a downward strike. The mage's body slammed into his torso, the force of Dylan's throw causing the assassin to be launched across the field and into the carts blocking the road.

He didn't rise. The ambush was effectively over.

"We…should check on Bodahn and Sandal." Alistair voice was high pitched, betraying that he had not quite recovered from the attack. "For all we know…"

"They are probably fine. They were only after Grey Wardens," Leliana reassured him "They might have papers on them, something to give an idea of their employer…."

Ishafel nodded, kneeling down to check the nearest corpse. The man's belt was full of pouches, reaching for the nearest one, her fingers tugged at the dark green string holding it shut.

"No! Not the green string!" Leliana abruptly pushed Ishafel out of the way and received a faceful noxious gas in her place.

"Leliana!" Ishafel cried out

She made a pained croaking sound, hand immediately at her throat. Dylan managed to be at her side in seconds. He uncorked a small flask tied securely to the top of his waterskin, grabbed Leliana's head and tossed the whole concoction down her throat in one go.

"There. That's the last cure I had … I'll have to…" He stopped, stunned, as Leliana's breathing became more labored, not less.

"How strange." Morrigan looked at him critically, before handing Leilana something from her own pack. "Seems a waste, but…"

Lelana glared, but drank the other flask. There was no change at all. The bard staggered as her knees wobbled, Alistair catching her before she fell.

Morrigan peered over her clinically. "A fast acting poison that doesn't respond to common antidotes. She looked at Dylan sweetly. "Tell me, student, do you have any idea."

"Wardens?"

He glared at her, nostrils flaring. For Leliana's sake, his healer's mind began to quickly hash through all the poisons and cures he had been forced to learn. Adder's Kiss? No, it was liquid based. Fell poison? But where would they find felandaris is this climate?

"Wardens."

Panicking, Ishafel grabbed a spring of elfroot from the roadside, wet it with her own flask and eased Leliana's mouth open to place it down her throat. It should stop swelling…if swelling was even the issue…

"WARDENS!"

The search for a cure was temporarily halted as Sten's booming voice sounded over the field, even Leliana's coughing was diminished as they all turned to look at him.

"This one is still alive." He nudged the unconscious elven assailant with the tip of his sword.

Ishafel strode across the field. "Dylan, wake him."

It only took one waggle of fingertips to bring the man, moaning, back into the world.

"Oooh…mmmm...what?" He gazed up at them, disbelieving his luck, "I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet."

"That can be easily fixed." Ishafel squatted down so she could meet him eye to eye.

"That man over there, he had a powder in his belt. It's making my… friend… sick. Tell me what it was."

"Do you honestly expect me to keep track of…?"

Ishafel stared back patiently.

"Well, yes, obviously you do. Let me see…Gerard… always seemed to have large amounts of deathroot and spiders venom on his person. Eh, could just be one of his fetishes. There were many if you believe the rumors…but add a pinch of glitterdust to that..."

Dylan and Ishafel both looked confusedly at Morrigian, who sighed crossly and began to remove things from her pack. The flask she dangled from the tips of her fingers was snatched up by Alistair, who helped to get the poor woman get the liquid down her throat.

A light enveloped her, and she stood.

"Ah, much better."

"Pleasure to have been of assistance." The would-be-assassin said merrily. "And now since I'm not dead…"

Sten made a sound low in his throat and lifted the point of the broadsword to rest a little closer to the man's throat.

Satisfied that Leliana was recovered, Ishafel turned back to him.

"Quiet, you'll answer when spoken to."

Instead of looking properly captured, the elf smirked.

"Oh, you're an aggressive little minx, aren't you? Lovely, too. But if it's questions you're planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point. My name is Zveran, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly."

Dylan snorted incredulously. "We're all very happy that you failed. Aren't we Alistair?"

He grinned, "Ecstatic, actually. Death is one of those things we try to avoid, that and ambushes, but if you can't avoid one..."

"Avoid the other." Dylan finished with a shrug.

Zevran smiled. "So would I be, in your shoes. For me however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to ones budding assassin career."

"What are the Antivan Crows?" Ishafel asked.

Leliana let out a little cough. "I can tell you that; they are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful; and renowned for always getting the job done…"

"Not this time." Ishafel stated dryly.

"Except in this case," the Crow agreed with an easy smile. "I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous."

The pride in his voice escaped no one.

"You came all the way from Antiva? To kill us?" Dylan asked.

"I suppose we should be flattered…" Alistair scoffed.

"Yes, you should always be flattered when someone travels long distances to kill you. Why anyone thinks they would need to travel that far to kill any of you escapes me." Morrigan muttered, "Ishafel maybe. Perhaps."

"Not precisely, I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around you see." He offered by way of explanation.

"And who exactly hired you to kill us?"

"Isn't it obvious? Alistair asked Ishafel incredulously. In a moment his suspicions were confirmed.

"When were you to see him next?" Ishafel asked. Perhaps Morrigan's plan in Lothering had been the best after all.

He looked at her and, despite the situation, that sly, knowing smile crept back on his face.

"I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of results… if he didn't already know. If I had failed, well, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. Needless to say, no need to see Loghain then."

"_If_ you had failed?"

His warm honey eyes met her dark molten ones and held them.

"What can I say, I am an eternal optimist."

Shifting behind her broke the moment, and Zervran looked up at Dylan, now standing over Ishafel.

"Although, the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they? Ha, Ha."

Dylan frowned and despite his position, stomach down on the hard earth, Zevran gave a shrug.

"No, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you?"

Dylan crossed his arms. "Why are you telling us all this? You're Loghain's man, aren't you loyal to your employers?"

"Ah, no. I am, or was, a man of the Crows, whom this Loghain of yours happened to employ. And I was not paid for silence. Not that it was ever for sale, precisely. I have no idea what his issues with you are. The usual, I would imagine. You threaten his power, yes? But beyond that, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service."

"And now that you've failed at that service?"

Well that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself. And perhaps myself and you" His gaze darted between the two wardens. "both, yes?"

"We're listening."

Dylan's eyes turned to the setting sun on the horizon. "Make it quick, we need to get moving if we want to make the tower by nightfall. For some strange reason," He drawled dryly. "I don't feel comfortable in these woods at night anymore."

"Well, here is the thing; I failed to kill you so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me…" Zevran's eyes danced up Sten's blade, but they held no fear, "The Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you folks are obviously the type to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead."

Ishafel stood, stretching her legs. "Can we expect the same amount of loyalty from you?"

"I happen to be a very loyal person. Up until the point where someone expects me to die for it. That's not a fault really, is it? Unless… you're the sort who would do the same. In which case. I… don't really come well recommended, I suppose." He chuckled.

Dylan's eyes narrowed. This Zevran made him uneasy. How could anyone be so calm with Sten's broadsword at their throat? It wasn't like it was Alistair's or Leliana's or even Ishafel's blades. That was Sten's no nonsense, roughhewn, made for a single purpose Chasind Flatblade. It was a bloody monster of a sword. No normal person was calm with a thing like that sitting by the largest artery in the neck.

"What's to stop you from finishing the job later? What do you get out of coming with us?"

Still Zevran remained calm as he answered. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid back my worth to them plus tenfold. The only way out is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me on principle for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

"Won't they just come after you?" Ishafel asked, Dylan angled his head to get a better look at her without taking his eyes from the assassin. Her voice held more interest and innocent curiosity than the animosity of when they'd started speaking. He didn't like where this was going.

"Possibly, but I happen to know their wily ways. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that either of you seem to need much help. And somewhere down the line if you should decide that you no longer have need of me, then I go on my way. Until then, I am yours. To do with as you please. Is that fair?"

"Why would we even want you?" Alistair asked the incredulous tone never leaving his voice.

"Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Crows attempt something… more sophisticated. I could also stand around and look pretty if you prefer. Warm your bed perhaps?

Ishafel frowned. "What are you talking about?"

But Zevran didn't answer, enjoying the frog-like expression on Dylan's face as he swallowed the statement. Ishafel didn't understand that either.

"Is this before or after you stab us in the back?"

For the first time Zevran's gaze went flat, and she felt chastised as though she had said something particularly stupid.

"Tsk, these things you say they must drive the men back home simply _wild_!"

His pitch finished, he took a steadying breath. "So what shall it be? I'll even shine armor. You won't find a better deal. I promise."

Dylan's hand was at his beard. _"Well?"_Ishafel started at the voice in her head, eyes darting to him.

"You must think we are royally stupid." She said aloud.

Zervan ran his eyes up Ishafel, much like Michael had been fond of doing. She waited.

"I think you're royally tough to kill and utterly gorgeous."

Alistar snorted and Leliana giggled.

"Not that I think you'll respond to simple flattery, but there are worse things in life than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess, or god in his case." He inclined his head toward Dylan once with a jerk and a wide grin. "And definitely nothing wrong with servicing them together."

Ishafel's brows knit. _That_ one she understood.

"Stop that." she said sternly, and proceeded to walk back toward the direction of the Bodahn and the wagon. "Very well, Sten let him up."

"Warden, you think _this_ wise?" The Qunari began to grumble under his breath.

Alistair had similar thoughts. "What? You're taking the assassin with us now? That _really_ seems like a good idea?"

"Nobody objected to Michael and he tried to kill us. Do not worry about it. I trust he will make himself useful."

"Did not _you_ object to Michael?" Morrigan pointed out, "Rather profusely, I recall."

Ishafel opened her mouth the reply but Morrigan cut her off with:

"Especially at the gates of Castle Redcliffe."

And she swallowed her words.

Dylan sighed and followed suit. "How do you catch a thief, Alistair?"

"Hmmmm. Alright, alright, I see your point. Still, if there was a sign we were desperate, I think it just knocked and said hello."

Zevran rose from the ground, unoffended by Sten's broad sword following him most of the time.

"Thank you. I am your man, without reservation, until what time you see fit to release me. This I swear. Feel free to use me however you see fit."

"You'll probably regret that. Somebody's going to have to push Bodahn's cart out of the mud."

Morrigan watched them all go, Sirius beside her, thoroughly annoyed.

"Well this is fine plan, but I would examine your food and drink far more closely from now on, were I you." She told the dog. Sirius' response was to bark back up at her and let his tongue loll from his mouth.

Zevran turned, a predatory grin on his face.

"That's excellent advice for anyone."


End file.
